OAK STREET 


LIBRARY FACILITY 


LITTLE BLUE BOOK NO. 489 
Edited by E. Haldeman-Julius 


Yiddish Short Stories 


Edited by Isaac Goldberg 


HALDEMAN-JULIUS COMPANY 
GIRARD, KANSAS 


¥S2. YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


‘2A INTRODUCTION 


Of the authors represented in this little col- 
lection, Isaac Leib Perez stands foremost in 
time and in renown. By more than one com- 
petent critic he has been found worthy to ac- 
cupy a distinguished place among the writers 
of the nineteenth century in any tongue. Medi- 
ocre as a dramatist, he rises as a poet and 
particularly as an artist in prose to moments 
of unaffected genius. Rarely is his allegory 
without that humanizing quality which keeps it 
from degenerating into merely pictorial eva- 
sions of thought. If allegory, not even in the 
hands of a Dante, cannot always be kept free 
from the adulteration of a wilful symbolism, 
there are times when it represents so success- 
fully the inner intention of the creator that it 
becomes in a very true sense a creation. That 
arch-enemy of allegorical writing, Benedetto 
Croce, has shown how in many a passage of 
the great Florentine’s Commedia it is possible, 
indeed, esthetically necessary,—to throw all 
thought of Dante’s concealed meanings to the 
winds and let the picture and the words speak 
for the human Dante behind them. Before 
Croce, Federico De Sanctis—who anticipated 
more than a little of Croce’s methods in literary 
criticism, and to whom Croce is so greatly in- 
debted—demonstrated the same sanative truth. 
In such simple tales of Perez as ‘‘Bontsche the 
Silent,” or the “Three Gifts” here included, 
the allegorical methcd is purged of all cryptic 


4 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


allusions. It becomes essentially human, essen- 
tially of the earth, for all its preoccupations 
with heaven. 


Pinski, perhaps the foremost dramatist of 
his race, first won his reputation for his stories 
of the rising Yiddish proletariat. He is, indeed, 
the discoverer of the proletariat in Yiddish 
fiction, and was himself ‘‘discovered” by Perez 
Pinski is pre-eminently a psychologist. Wheth 
er one reads his numerous plays* or the book 
of tales that appeared in English a number of 
years ago, one divines first of all the prober 
or human souls and the passions engendered 
within them. His “Beruriah” is, to me, one 
of the masterpieces of the short story in mod- 
ern days, none the less contemporaneous for 
its origin in a Talmudic setting. “The Tale. 
of a Hungry Man,’ by which he is here rep- 
resented, combines in admirable fashion his — 
early proletarian interests with his psychologi- 
cal methods. . 


Asch is to the Yiddish novel what Pinski is 
to the drama. He is that rare phenomenon, 
a spontaneous artist with all the virtues and 
defects of improvisation. Of his longer novels, 
“Mottke the Vagabond” and ‘Uncle Moses,” 
both in English, give an idea of his accom- 
plishments with old-world and new-world set- 
tings. In his short fiction he is notable for 
a poetic realism, a mingling of the so-called 
romantic and the so-called realistic, that is 
evident in so outwardly coarse a play as “The 
God of Vengeance.” 


*See the end of the book for Yiddish works Pro- 
curable in- EngHsh.:- . 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 5 


Raisin is, in fiction, the artist of miniatures, 
of cameos, of impressions. He is hardly con- 
cerned with the surprise-ending, the “punch” and 
other commercial desiderata of our lesser Amer- 
ican stories. With the facility of journalistic 
comparisons he has been called “the Yiddish 
Chekhov”; who, among the Jewish writers, has 
not at one time or other been the “Yiddish 
This-or-That?” Yet there is an element of 
suggestive virtue in the coupling of the names, 
and there have been moments when Chekhov 
and Maupassant signed worse things than “A 
Game,” though often they signed far better. 


Shapiro, of the writers here included, is the 
least widely known. There is something un- 
real to his visions, yet for all their external un- 
reality they grip the reader with an indubitable 
power. “The Kiss” is one of his best pogrom 
tales. If he is scarcely known to outsiders it 
is because he deserves a far greater recogni- 
tion from his own people. 

Opatoshu (pen name of Joseph Opatovsky) 
has strengthened a reputation as short-story 
writer with his added success as a novelist. 
His fondness for nature, for animals and for 
Khassidie types provides a rich background for 
his restless imagination. Of the younger writ- 
ers—if a writer is still young under forty—he 
shows as good promise as any of attaining to 


a lofty place.* 
ISAAC GOLDBERG. 


*For permission to include Pinski’s A Tale of a 
Hungry Man from the volume of his short stories 
published by Brentano’s under the title Tempta- 
tions, I am indebted to both the author and the 
_publishers.—I, G. : 


6 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


THREE GIFTS 


ISAAC LEIB PEREZ 


I, THE SCALES OF JUSTICE 


Somewhere many and many a year ago, a 
Jew breathed his last. 

No one, of course, may live for ever. The 
man was dead; the attentions due the dead 
were paid, and a grave among the folk of his 
own faith lodged him. 

The grave closed over him, the orphaned son 
recited his Kaddish and the soul flew upward 
—to Judgment. 

On arriving there it found the scale of Jus-. 
tice already swinging in the court chamber. 
Here the good deeds and the evil were to be 
weighed. And forthwith the dead man’s Ad- 
vocate enters, the Good Spirit of his former life. 
A pure, snow-white sack is in his hand and he 
stands near the right scale of the Balance. 

And behold the dead man’s Accuser enters— 
the Evil Spirit of his former life. An unclean 
sack is in his hands and he stands near the 
left scale of the Balance. The sack of pure 
white contains the good deeds. The sack that 
is begrimed and black—the evil, sinful deeds. 
And the vindicator of the soul pours out the 
contents of the white sack on the right scale. 
The good deeds are of the odor of incense and 
glow with the radiancy of the stars. The Ac- 
cuser pours out the contents of the unclean sack 
on the leit scale of the Balance, The evil deedy 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 7 


—Heaven protect us—are as black as coal, and 
reek of the very stench of tar and pitch. 


And the poor soul stares at it all—and gasps. 
It never dreamt to behold such a distinction 
between the “Good” and the “Evil.” “There” 
it had often recognized neither of them and had 
mistaken the one for the other. 


The scales rise gradually. Now the one, now 
the other moves up and down....and the indi- 
cator oscillates now a hair’s breadth to the left, 
now a trifle towards the right. But a hair’s 
breadth variation and that gradually....an or- 
dinary mortal this soul must have been; nei- 
ther rebellious to the Holy Spirit nor yet dwel- 
ling much within it....capable of trivial vir- 
tues and trivial vices only. The scales held 
but little particles, tiny dots of things, at times 
hardly visible to the eye. 


And yet, what a clamor of joy and of gladness 
from the empyrean when the Balance indicator 
turns but a trifle towards the right and what 
racking cries of agony mark every turn to the 
left. And slowly, ever so slowly the angels empty 
the sacks. With a zest they show up the tiny 
particles, just as decent burghers will add one 
farthing to another in self-exhibition to a see- 
ing world. 

However, the deepest well will run dry—and 
the sacks, too, are soon empty. 

“Ts that all?” inquires the court-usher. He, 
too, is an angel among his like. Both the Good 
end the Evil Spirits turn their sacks inside 
out. Absolutely nothing more. The court- 
tsnoer steps forward to the Balance. He ex- 
smines the indicator to see whether it is in- 


8 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


clined towards the right or the left; and he 
stares at it good and long; for he beholds some- 
thing that none ever saw since first the Heav- 
ens and the Earth knew creation.... 


“Why such hesitancy?’ demands the Chief 
Justice. And the usher mutters: 

“But one moment! The index is exactly in 
the center. The Evil deeds and the Good are 
exactly of the same weight.” 

“Is that absolutely so?’ queries a voice from 
about the table. 

The usher looks yet again: ‘Yea even to a 
hair’s breadth.” 

The Heavenly Tribunal holds its consultation 
and the decision as to the sentence is thus pro- 
nounced: ‘Since the Evil deeds do not weigh 
more than the good—the soul, of course, is 
free from Hell. But, on the other hand, since 
the Good deeds do not prevail over the Evil— 
neither can Paradise receive her.* Therefore 
she is to be neither here, nor there, but a 
wanderer between the realms of Heaven and 
Earth, until the Lord have mercy upon her and 
in His goodness cali her unto him.” 

And the usher of the courts leads the soul 
away. 

She sobs, and bemoans her fate. 

“Why art thou weeping?” he asks her. “’Tis 
true thou wilt not know the joy and the glad- 
ness of Eden, but neither will the agonies and 
pangs of Hell be thine.” 

But the soul, unconsoled, replies: 

“The worst agony is pret ere hie to nothing at 
all. Nothing is most dreadful. 


*Soul is feminine in Yiddish. (tr.) 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 9 


And the heavenly usher pities her and offers 
her some advice. 

“Fly downward-little soul, and hover about 
the living world of men. Gaze not unto heaven. 
For what-canst thou see on the other side, but 
the little stars. Radiant little people—they cer- 
tainly are, but alas, very cold. They know no 
pity. They’ll never speak to the Lord about 
you. Only the pious souls of Paradise will go 
to such trouble for a poor, exiled soul....but 
they....hearken unto me....they do love gifts, 
fair and beautiful gifts.” 

The usher talked bitterly. ‘Such are the 
ways of Paradise, nowadays. Fly downward, 
then, to the living world and watch life there 
and its ccurse. And if thou only catchest a 
glimpse of something that is surpassingly fair 
or good, seize thou it, and fly up to heaven. 
Present it as a gift to the pious there. Knock 
at the little window and in my name, speak to 
the angel-guard. And when thou wilt have 
brought three gifts—why then be certain that 
the gates of Heaven will be unbarred....they 
will manage to have it so for thee....At the 
Throne of Honor, the well-born are not loved 
....but the well-grown....” 


And in this wise, and with compassion, he 
thrusts her out of Paradise. 


Il. THE FIRST GiFT 


The poor little soul flies downward to the 
world of the living in search of gifts for the 
pious people of Heaven. It hovers about, every- 
where; about the villages and the towns, about 
every habitation of man, amid the burning rays 


10 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


of hottest summer; amid the drops and water 
spears of rainy autumn; amid the silver web, 
fantastical, in the last days of summer; amid 
the snowflakes that fall from above....It gazes 
ebout and about till it well-nigh spends its 
sight. 


Wherever and whenever it spies a Jew it 
runs hastily up to him and looks at him in- 
tently—perhaps he is on his way to Prayer— 
to bless the name of the Lord. Wherever a 
light breaks through the chink of a shutter— 
she is there, to peep inside, to see whether the 
Lora’s fragrant flowerets, the secret deeds of 
good, blossom in that silent house. Alas!.... 
most of the time it must dart away from the 
window in agony and dismay.... 


And thus season follows season, and year 
follows year. Oft, the soul becomes moody and 
sullen. Cities turn into graveyards, the grave- 
yards into fields of pasture; forests are felled. 
The pebbles of the brook become sand; rivers 
have changed their courses; myriads of stars 
have fallen and myriads of souls have flown 
upward; but the gracious Lord has never 
thought of her; neither has she found aught 
that was beautiful or good. 


And she thinks within herself: “How poor 
the whole world is. Its people—how mediocre; 
their souls—how dark and obscure....How can 
aught good be found here? Alas! I must rove 
about—an exile, forever.” 


But suddenly a red flame bursts before her. 
Out of the dark and gloomy night a red flame 
leaps forth. She stares about her....’Tis from 
an upper window of a house that the flame has 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 11 


shot forth. Robbers are attacking a wealthy 
man. Masks are on their faces. One holds a 
burning torch in his hands; another holds a 
blazing knife at the man’s breast and repeats 
his threat again and again: 


“Jew, make but the slightest motion and you 
are dead. The knife will most assuredly pass 
through your back, then.’ The others are all 
busy, opening chests and drawers. The man 
looks serenely about him, although the knife 
is at his breast. The brows above his lucid 
eyes do not quiver. Not a hair of that gray 
beard that reaches to the waist moves. All 
of it seems to be something that is not his 
concern. ‘‘The Lord hath given, the Lord tak- 
eth away,” he muses, and his pale lips mutter: 
“Blessed be the name of the Lord.” 


“One is not born thus and one may not carry 
it all to his grave.” He views them calmly 
when they are about to clear the last drawer 
of the last bureau and watches, in absolute 
silence, the pillage of the gold and the silver, 
the jewelry and other precious things! 

Perhaps he is renouncing it all! 

But all at once—as the robbers are about to 
lay hold upon the last hidden treasure—a little 
sack, hidden in the most secret nook of all— 
he forgets himself—trembles all over, his eyes 
are bloodshot, and he stretches his right hand 
forward, to the weapon. He would, as it seems, 
cry out! 

“Touch it not!” 

But the cry is unuttered. A red, vaporous 
stream of blood shoots forth, the knife has done 
its work...,It is the beart’s blood that be- 


12 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


sprinkles the little sack. He falls to the ground. 
The robbers tear the little sack open in a hurry. 
That will be the best—the most precious gain 
of all! 


But what a grievous error! The blood had 
been shed in vain—neither silver, nor gold, nor 
jewels were there. Naught of any value in 
this world. It was a little measure of sand 
from the Holy Land, to be strewn on his face 
at burial. That, the wealthy man had wished 
to save from the hands and gaze of strangers. 


That had shed his blood....and the soul seizes ~ 


a blood-soiled particle of the sand and knocks 
at the little window of Heaven. Her first gift 
found ready acceptance. 


Il, THE SECOND GIFT 


“Remember now,” said the angel as he bar- 
red the window. “Remember—two more of- 
ferings.” 

“The Lord will aid me”’—thinks the soul, 
grown hopeful; and joyously flies down again. 
However, her gladness lasts but a little while. 
Again, years follow years and she can find 
nothing that is surpassingly beautiful. And 
her melancholy returns to her. “The world 
has, it seems, forsaken the way of the Lord, 
and like a spring ever runs out and out. The 
more the water that flows into the soil, the 
more sucked in—the more the soil becomes foul 
and unclean. Fewer are the gifts for heaven 
then. Men become ever petty and more petty. 
Their good deeds grow tiny; their evil deeds 
blacker and blacker dust—their deeds are hard- 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIFS 13 


And thus speaking to herself she seems to 
think that should the Lord command: all the 
evil deeds and the good of the world to be 
weighed ir the Balance, that the needle would 
hardly move, yea, not even tremble. The earth 
can hardly rise or fall now, she is but a wan- 
derer from the empyrean above to the black 
abyss of Sheol below. <A splendid cause for an 
eternal disputation between the spirits of good 
and of evil; just such a one as the eternal dis- 
pute between darkness and light, heat and 
cold, life and death.... 


The earth rocks to and fro. She can neither 
ascend nor descend. Thus we ever have wed- 
dings and divorcees, parties and funerals, love 
and hate—ever, forever: 


Suddenly the blare of trumpets and of horns 
resounds. The soul looks down—and beholds 
an ancient German town. All sorts of roofs, 
narrow and bent surround the courthouse. A 
motley crowd fills the place. People peer out 
of the windows; others throng the roofs, and 
some sit astride the beams at the edge, where 
they are propped up by the wall. 


A table, covered with a green cloth stands 
at the head of the court-hall. The cloth has 
golden tassels and fringes. The men of the 
court are held with golden hooks. They wear 
sable caps and large feathers stick from the 
shining buttons to which they are sewed. At 
the head of the table, the President of the 
court is seated. An Eagle hovers overhead.... 

A young Jewess, all bound, stands on one 
side. Ten slaves hold a white horse firmly 
near her. The president has. risen and with 


14 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


his eyes towards the market-place, he reads 

the paper he has in his hand—her sentence. 
“This Jewess,” he says, “is guilty of a mon- 

strous sin. Even the Lord, in his gracious- 


“On our last and most sacred holiday, she 
slunk out of her ghetto and walked through the 
clean streets of our town.... 

“She has sullied the Holy procession. He 
eyes have defiled the sacred images that we 
bore with hymnal song and music through the 
streets.... 

“The hymns of our innocent children, or our 
young, clad in snow-white garments, her ears 
have sucked in—and the beating of the holy 
drum likewise....who knows whether . the 
devil, the foul friend, has not transformed him- 
self into this image of the Jewess, of this 
cursed Rabbi’s daughter? Who knows whether 
thus, he has not touched and polluted a holy 
treasure of ours? 

“What was the fiend up to, in this fair dis- 
guise? We need not equivocate. Undoubtedly, 
she is fair; a devilish beauty is hers—Do but 
look at the wicked sparkle of her eyes, and 
the modest and humble pose of her silken eye- 
lashes.... 

“See you her alabaster face? It has indeed 
grown paler since her imprisonment, but duller 
not a whit!....Look at her fingers. How thin 
and long and how transparent they seem in 


“What could the fiend have wanted but to 
dissuade a soul from its Holy faith, and that he 
has done indeed: 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 15 


“What a beauiful maiden!” exclaimed one of 
our own Knighthood—a member of one of our 
best famiilies..... 

“It was more than patience could endure. 
The crowd noticed her and lay hands upon 
her—The fiend did not even stir for defense— 
How could she? There were all pure of sin. 
They had been absolved. He had no power 
over them. 


“Let this then be the sentence of the devil 
—of the fiend disguised in this form of a Jew- 
ish maiden: 

“Bind her hair, her fiendishly long hair, to 
the tail of this savage horse.... 

“Let the horse fly over the streets and drag 
her like a ‘corpse’ across the very streets she 
has polluted in defiance of our sacred laws. 

“May her blood besprinkle them and wash 
those that her feet have besmirched!”’ 

Savage cries of joy fill the market-place and 
when the great din is over the convicted 
woman is asked her last wish. 

She answers calmly: “I have one wish. Give 
me but a few pins.” 

“Her grief has made her mad!” think the 
men of the court. 

“Not so,” she answers serenely and frigidly: 
“This is my last wish; my last desire.” 

They gratified her in that. 

“Now, bind her!” commands the President of 
the Court. ; 

The hands of the servants tremble as they 
bind her long dark braids to the tail of the 
horse, which is so wild that he can hardly 
be controlled.... 


16 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


“Make room!” the command is heard. There 
is a wild rush forward. The crown huddles 
close to the walls of the buildings. All raise 
their hands. All are ready to goad the horse 
along. Some have whips, some have cords, 
others wiretips. Their breath is stifled for 
the moment; their faces are aflame, their eyes 
sparkle and in all this hubbub no one notices 
how the convicted maiden bends down and 
pins her skirts at the seam and pushes the 
pins deep into her body, so that it may be 
covered absolutely when she is dragged about 
in the streets. Only the exiled soul notices it 
a3 


“Free the horse,” the command is heard again. 
The slaves have leaped away. The horse bounds 
forward. A deafening shout fills the air. Whips 
and cords and wires are whirled about and 
whistle loudly. The horse, wild with terror, 
rushes across the market place, across the 
streets, over the alley and far, far out of the 
town.... 


The vagrant soul has drawn a blood-stained 
pin out of the victim’s body and is on her way 
to heaven with it! 


And the angel at the little window soothes 
her, saying: “But one more gift!” 


IV. THE THIRD GIFT 


And downward again the soul wends her way. 
But one more gift! And as before, year fol- 
lows year and melancholy has its grip upon 
her. The world has grown little indeed. Men 
are becoming ever more insignificant. Their 


EDS SELOLS SiO Riles 17 


deeds too are tiny and more so; the good and 
the evil alike.... 

And a new thought occurs to her: 

“What if the Lord, Blessed be His name, 
were to halt the world process this very mo 
ment and announce the final Judgment; would 
not then the Advocate appeer on the right side 
of the Balance and pour out the contents of 
his white sack, its tiny particles and little 
grains of sand; would not the Accuser follow 
and empty his sack on the left scale—his little 
wee bits and fragments? What a long process 
that would be! What a multitude of little 
things! 

“And when the emptying of the sack is com- 
pleted, what then? Of course, the indicator 
would be pointing right to the center! 

“Such insignificant things weigh nothing; na 
matter what their number. Indeed, what can 
be the weight of a tiny thread, of a straw or 
of an empty husk? 

“What might the decision of the Lord be 
then? 

“Would he turn the whole into a void again? 
Certainly not; for the Evil deeds do not weigh 
more than the good. 

“Perhaps he might grant salvation to all. 
But that, too, is unlikely, for the deeds of Good 
do not prevail over those of Evil. 

“It is hard to see what would follow then. 

“Might he not say: ‘Pass ye along. Rove ye 
from the realms of Hell to Heaven amid Love 
and Hate, in tears of mercy or vaporous blood. 
....from cradle unto grave, rove ye farther— 
even farther.’ ”’ 

However, Destiny seems to have planned the 


18 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


deliverance of the Soul from her gloomy re- 
flections. The din of beating drums arouses 
her.... 

‘Where am I now, and what the time?” She 
cannot recognize the place. She has no idea of 
the time. 

She beholds the courtyard of a prison. The 
rays of the sun hover about the little windows 
and even penetrate the iron bars....They glide 
along the wall and fall upon a heap of sundry 
weapons supported there. The soldier-guards 
have but a moment ago received their whips.... 


Two long rows of soldiers and only a narrow 
passage between. 


Who is it that must run the winnie here? 
Oh, it is but an insignificant Jew. <A torn 
shirt is on his emaciated body and a skull-cap 
on his half-shaven head. There he is being led 
forth. 

But what is his crime? What has he stolen? 
Has he robbed any one,—murdered?....Perhaps 
it is but a false accusation. Is that not an 
ancient custom and were not many such before? 


The soldiers smile as they ponder: What 
was the use of having all of us here? Would. 
not half the number have sufficed! 

He is thrust into the passage. He steps for- 
ward. He walks directly on. The lashes fall 
upon him. But he curses no one, neither does 
he falter or fall.... 


A fit of rage overwhelms the soldiers. He 
walks on and on! 

The whips whistle in the air, fiendishly. 
They grip and coil around the body as serpents 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 19 


do. The blood of the emaciated frame gushes 
forth and does not cease! 

Whoop—whack! Whoop—whack! Suddenly 
a whip falling high, throws the skull-cap down 
to the ground. The doomed man notices it 
after a few paces....He stirs and reflects. He 
turns round again and walks onward, serenely 
calm though. covered with streaming blood. The 
skull-cap is on his head.* He walks on till he 
fallsed,'; 

And when he fell thus, the Soul ran swiftly 

up to him, and seized the cap that had cost so 
many innocent lashes, and with it she flew up 
to the little window of Heaven. 
And the third gift also found acceptance! 
The pious Souls tried their best and spared no 
trouble: the doors of Eden were now open! 
And a voice of the “Oracle” was heard: 

“These are truly beautiful gifts, of surpass- 
ing fairness....They may be of no practical 
use. They may not even serve for show.... 
But they are marvelous.” 

——Translated by Samuel P. Rudens, 


‘eon crememmeermer 
*The head must be covered during all re- 
ligious services. 


20 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


THE. JUDGMENT, 


JOSEPH OPATOSHU 


Simka, the ‘fisherman, a massive, uncouth 
man, lived near Pincus, the teacher. Simka’s 
peasant hut, with its straw roof that was 
black with age, stood at the end of the Joldov- 
ka, where the latter descends, stairlike, between 
towering cliffs and falls roaring into the Vis- 
tula. From far it seemed that the hut grew 
out of the cliffs, that it rocked and washed in 
the water like a little boat, surrounded by great 
silver ribbons. 

The fisherman and his three songs stood 
coatless and barefooted with their trousers 
rolled about their knees, smearing large two- 
eared pails with cheese; Simka’s wife, a strong, 
ruddy woman with a three-cornered, white 
shawl on her head, also stood barefooted. 
The toes of her feet were webbed like those 
of a goose. She was mending great nets. The © 
men put stones into the pails to prevent the 
current from carrying them away. When a 
pail filled with fish, they swiftly lit pieces of 
thin wood, so that the fish would not see thei* 
way out, and pulled the pail to the shore 
The quivering fish were dumped into a net, 
which was fastened to a raft tied to the shore 
with thick ropes. , 

Simka’s youngest son, Zelik, sat on the raft. 
He was about ten and had a wart near his 
ear, He threw pieces of bread into a Mask 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 21 


of water in which a little goldfish, swam 
about. 

Zelik grew in the woods like a wild goat. 
Often he disappeared for days at a time. He 
would climb into a salt barge and go miles 
down the river. Nobody ever missed him. 
Once when he was gone for a week, his mother 
said something about it, but the rest remained 
silent. There was a reason. When Zelik was 
born with the wart, his mother was very 
frightened and sent for the old witch to ex- 
orcise the child. The witch advised her to 
keep a close watch over the child, lest Wanda, 
the queen of Vistula, steal him. The fisher- 
man and his sons firmly believed that the 
stretch of water near which they lived was 
demanding a human sacrifice, for their catches 
were diminishing every year. The water must 
have what belonged to it. 

Each time Zelik disappeared, all of them 
kept still, thinking that the water had at last 
taken its prey. But each time he came back, 
as if to spite them. 


The Vistula had cast him forth tnida times. 
And because of:this Simka wished to know 
nothing of him, and did not want to teach 
him, and Zelik always walked around in rags 
and tatters. 

“Why are you sitting there doing nothing, 
you fool?” the mother cried out at Zelik. 

“Go over to the ‘teacher’ and ask him how 
much fish they want by Saturday.” 

The boy caught up the flask with the gold- 
fish, and ran into the wood. 


92 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


Zelik thought that when he grew older he 
would not fish with pails. He would build ' 
himself a raft and catch fish with nets. And 
when he would grow rich (and he would surely 
grow rich) he would buy a pair of rubber 
boots with those long tops that would fasten 
with a buckle under the stomach, also a leather 
coat, and he would sail over the water in a 
real fishing smack, with a large steering wheel. 
Then he would build himself a house with a 
glass veranda, exactly like the one Pincus, the 
teacher, had. And perhaps he would give the 
goldfish to Rachel. She had been angry at him 
for the last two days, because he had cut off 
the tail of her black cat. But then, the cat 
deserved it. When the fish lay eggs she had 
no business to eat them. Yes, he would give 
the fish to Rachel. True, goldfish aren’t to 
be found everyday in the Vistula. But that 
was nothing. When he grew older he would 
catch a whale, cut its insides out, and sew a 
pair of trousers and a coat for himself from 
the skin, so that only his eyes would show. 
And then he would swim with his fins all 
standing straight up, down, to the goldfish. 
He knew that they lived in the deepest whirl- 
pools. But he would tell Rachel to change 
the water, and to throw in a few bread-crumbs. 


Rachel sat on the veranda consoling the 
black cat that lay with a swollen back on a 
soft basket. 

“My poor little cat. Does it hurt much? 
Don’t cry. Nikoli says it'll heal soon. And 
Zelik’s wart will get so big, so big, see, like 
this,” and she stretched out both hands. “It’ll 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 23 


be ugly,’ she laughed. “Zelik with a tail on 
his cheek!” 

“Rachel, see, I’ve got a goldfish. Want it?” 

‘Rachel turned away and pouted. 

Tm yaad: 

“Why are you mad?” 

“Because you’re a murderer.” 

“But my father told me to. I swear. He 
even told me to put your cat in a sack and 
throw it straight into the water from the hill.” 


“And you think you’ll be forgiven? God will 
punish you. Nikolai says your wart must be-. 
come as big as the tail you cut off.” 


Zelik lost himself for a moment. He put 
his hand to his cheek and it seemed to him 
that the wart was already becoming longer. 

“It’s a lie. How much will you bet that I 
won't have it at all by tomorrow? I’ve got 
something that'll take it away.” 

“What have you got?” 

“T’ll put pigeon blood on it a few times, 
and it will dry and fall off.” 

“Why didn’t you do it before?” 

“Because mama says a wart is lucky. If I 
take it off before I’m thirteen, my luck will 

“Are you lucky?” 

“Of course, see, the Vistula threw me up 
three times. And I can swim in the sea, too. 
My father is a fisherman so long, and he never 
caught a goldfish. And I know where they 
live, too. And you don’t know,” 

“Where.” 

“In the whirlpools,” 


Z4 YiDDiSH SiitORn? STORIES 


“Zelik, is it true that a whirlpool must get 
a@ man each year?” 

“Ot course. They live there together with 
the goldfish. You know, when I grow older, 
Tll swim down there to the goldfish.” 

“And if they won’t let you go back?” 

“Hh, they’ let me go back.” 

“And what will you do there?” 

“All the treasures of the sea are there. Tll 
fill my pockets with gold and diamonds, and 
come back.” 

' “And you'll take me, too?” 

“You? Youre mad at me.” 

“Of course I’m mad.” 

“Then I won’t take you.” 

“Don’t take me, then.” 

“Give me back my goldfish.” 

“The goldfish? Why are you so bad? Why 
did you take my cat and—’”’ 

“IT swear I won’t cut the tail off again.” 

“But you’ve cut it off already.” 

“Rachel, where are you? The dinner is 
cold,” came the old servant’s voice from the 
house. 

“l’m coming,’ Rachel answered, and arose. 

“Come to us tomorrow, Rachel. T'1e storks 
are here already. You'll come?” 

“T’ll come.” She entered the hous. 


il 


The woods whispered happily. The air was 
filled with resin. 

Zelik, tanned like a gipsy, walked barefoot 
through the forest. He avoided the common 
path and trudged over the black. swampy, 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 25 


moss-covered earth. He was happy to feel 
the cool, soft earth yield beneath his feet 
like well kneaded dough. The boy had a key 
in his mouth, and whistled for all he was 
worth. 

Rachel, happy, with flaming cheeks, with 
her shoes and stockings in her hands, followed 
him. 

Sunbeams that had been hidden deep in the 
woods suddenly began to play and weave 
themselves around Rachel. They stole from 
the rear, kissed her, sprang back, and all of 
a sudden sprayed her with such silver light, 
she half closed her eyes, and shrieked hap- 
pily. 

The birds became happier, springing up sud- 
denly trom the deep grass, and flapping their 
wings. They remained hanging against the 
flaming sun, trilling their songs. 

The woods whispered joyously. They smelled 
of resin. It seemed that scores of fiddlers 
were scattered all over the woods. They had 
grown tired ande gradually had ceased their 
' playing. But seeing the barefooted children 
‘hand in hand on the soft ground, they began 
to feel younger, and rubbed their brows rap- 
idly against the yellow resin, and the tall 
pines trembled like tightly stretched violin 
strings, and they roared like a far, quiet sea— 
Youth, O Youth. 

When they came out of the wood the two 
sat down on the bank of the Vistula, and 
hegan to bathe their muddy feet-in the clear 
wa'‘er.é 

Vide ,green fields spotted with yellow flow- 


26 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


ers stretched on the other margin of the Vis- 
tula. A white stork with a black tail startled 
over the field. He lifted his red legs like 
stilts. He raised proudly his long neck with 
its red beak, and noisily swallowed small green 
toads. When the sun appeared from behind 
a cloud, and began to shine, the stork stood up | 
on one leg, hid its beak and half of its head 
under its wing, and remained standing in the 
middle of the field as if it were painted. 


“Rachel, you know what would be nice?” 

“What?” 

“Swear you won’t tell any body.” 

“T swear.’ 

“Go ’way. I think you will tell.” 

“T swear I won’t, Zelik.”’ 

“Remember now.” He lifted a finger to his 
nose. “You know what I’ve thought of?” 

“What?” 

“You'll never guess,” he laughed. 

“Oh, tell me,” Rachel begged, taking Zelik’s 
hand and rubbing a little wet foot against his. 

“You know, if we could get a goose-egg, it 
would be so nice. ff 

“Why do you need a goose-egg?” 

“T would put it into the stork’s nest, and it 
would hatch out a half-stork, half-goose.”’ 

“Will the stork let you do it?” 

“T’ll put it in before dawn, when both aren’t 
in the nest.” 

“Zelik, you know what brings babies? Braina 
says that a stork brings the babies in alittle 
basket. Where do the babies live?’ 

“In heaven.” 

“And when it rains?’ 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES | 27 


“When it rains? I don’t know. I suppose 
they hide when the clouds come down to the 
Vis’la to drink.” 

“And the stork that stands over there, can 
it bring babies, too?’ 

“Of course,” and Zelik stretched his hands. 
“Such a heap of babies.” 

“Go ’way, I’d be ashamed of Braina to bring 
a baby home. A little girl mustn’t have babies. 
You must marry first, no?” 

“Well, why did the Forester’s Franka have 
a baby? She never married?’ 

“But she’s not a Jewess.” 


A second stork, slightly smaller, with chalk 
white wings, gently descended on the field. 
The he-stork in the middle of the field, seemed 
to awake as from sleep, spread his wings, lifted 
his long neck, yawned, and began to run 
around and around the she-stork with his head 
lowered, crying, “Clia-clia.”” He stopped, lifted 
his slightly opened, red beak, in which he held 
a green toad, looked at the she-stork proudly, 
as if saying, “My wife will never die of hun- 
ger,” and gave her the toad. And while she 
scarcely lifted her neck, rolled her eyes and 
swallowed the toad that was averse to make 
the journey down her throat, he pecked her 
’ lovingly with his beak, put his head under 
her wing and looked for something. He stood 
on one leg again, began to slap his wings, 
flew around the she-stork, ogled her, stretch- 
ing his long, limber neck, and the erstwhile 
silent bird began to sing, “Clia-clia-qua, Clia- 
clia-qua,”’ 

Zelik came out of the water. 


28 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


“Go home. Rachel, and bring an egg. The 
nest is empty by now. Put on your shoes.” 

Rachel joyously put on her shoes. She felt 
more comfortable, and jumped up. 

“Well, why don’t you go?” 

“I’m too lazy to go myself.” 

“Then V’ll go with you. All right?” 

The children leaping up and taking each 
other by the hand, were lost from sight in 
the woods. 


III 


Zelik approached the barn where the storks 
had built their nest. He took the egg from 
Rachel, held it in his lips, and swiftly like a 
cat began to climb the straight wall. He 
grasped a jutting piece of wood, waited a 
little as if seeking balance, and threw his body 
on to the roof. The nest was made of an 
old wooden harrow. In the harrow lay a bas- 
ket, filled with grass and twigs. The close 
ouor of fish, toads, and chickens, struck Zelik 
in the face. Three large eggs lay in the nest. 
He took out one of them, replaced it with the 
goose-egg, and wanted to descend from the 
roof, when the two storks suddenly appeared 
and flew at him with wide-spread wings. Zelik 
barely had time to get down, but he was so 
frightened lest the storks attack him that he 
remained standing with the egg in both hands. 

Rachel shrieked loudly. : 

“Zelik, jump down.” 

Zelik, crouched, covered his face with both 
hands, like one expecting a blow, and began 
to slide down the incline of the roof. 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 29 


The he-stork, flying swiftly by, stretched his 
long neck and directed his sharp beak at 
Zelik’s face. Zelik dodged the beak of the 
stork, caught the blow in his back, and fell 
from the roof like a stone. The egg broke and 
covered him with yellow liquid. 


Rachel thought that Zelik was surely dead 
from the blow. She began to pinch herself 
from fear, fell to her knees before Zelik, em- 
braced him with both hands, and began to 
kiss him and to cry. 

“Zelik, my dear, does it hurt you much, tell 
me? It’s all my fault. Why did I bring the 
eee 2” 

When Zelik recovered from the blow, he felt 
a sharp pain in his back, and remembered that 
the stork had picked at him. Rachel, when 
she saw blood on his coat, put her hands to 
her head. 

“O, mama, blood.” 

She again dropped to her knees before Zelik 
and began to entreat. 

“Zelik, my dear, come to us. Braina will 
put something on it. She won’t tell anybody. 
You'll see. I beg you, Zelik, come.” 

She kissed. him and began to cry again. 
“It’s all my fault.” 

Zelik, seeing her cry, became really fright- 
ened. He forgot his pain, and stood up. 

“Come, Rachel. We'll go down to the water. 
You'll wash off the blood. All right? Don’t 
ery. It’s nothing. I have had higger holes 
in my head and they healed.” 

“Are you mad at me, Zelik?’’ 

SNTOS?” 


30 YIDDISH SiiORT SYVORIES 


“You want us to be friends forever?” 

“Of course,” 

“See, I love you so much,” Rachel said, and 
bit hard into the flesh of the arzn above the 
elbow. All her teeth left red marks on the 
skin. 

They were silent, They walked over the dry 
branches that cracked under their feet, in 
the direction of the River, 

Rachel, like a little mother, began to attend 
on Zelik. She took off his coat, then his shirt, 
forgetting that a girl must not look on a naked 
boy. She took her white apron, dipped it into 
the cold water, and washed Zelik’s wound. 
Zelik lay on his stomach like a little wounded 
animal. He did not move. He was happy to 
know that Rachel was busy about him. When 
she had washed the wound, she removed the 
stains from the apron, wrung it out, put it on 
the wound, went with him into the bushes in 
the shade, and told him to lie down with his 
face in her lap, so that the wound should dry 
a little. 

Zelik obeyed. He fell asleep almost at once. 

At short intervals Rachel lifted the apron, 
and looked to see if the wound had dried. But 
the wound still ran blood. Her heart over- 
flowed with sorrow, and she began to weep 
quietly. And thus, weeping with red, brim- 
ming eyes, Rachel nestled her little head among 
the leaves, and also fell asleep. 


IV 


The she-storg did not leave her nest the 
whole morning. She watched how her young 
pecked their way out of the shells. 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 31 


The he-stork was upset. He flew about the 


nest uttering strange cries, every now and then 


fetching something to his mate, strutting 
swiftly above the nest with a shrunken neck 
almost hidden beneath his wings. He resem- 


bled a young man whose wife is giving birth 


to her first child. 


The she-bird emitted a strange ‘“Clia-clia.” 
The he-bird sat down, spread his wings, and 
guarded the nest. For a moment he seemed to 
be confused and looked at his mate who had 
lowered her head in shame as if she were 
saying, “I swear I am not guilty.” <A little 
gosling rolled out of a broken egg-shell. The 
he-stork felt that all in him was trembling, 
and like a cuckold husband he threw himself 
at this mate, pecking her feathers with his 
beak. She lowered her head still more, moved 
closer to him and like a really guilty one, made 
no resistance. All in her seemed to say, “Go 
on beating me.” 

The he-stork picked the gosling up with his 
beak, caught it by the head, and threw it down 
from the barn top. He began to destro$ the 
nest with his beak and legs, looking no longer 
at his mate. Then he nested awhile, and flew 
away. 

The she-stork smoothed her feathers, and 
began to sharpen the point of her beak, know- 
ing that she was lost, that ‘the’ had flown to 
tell the flock about her sin. 

She lifted one foot, began to sharpen her 
beak still harder against the harrow, and wept 
in her own way. She was sure that it was 
not her fault, that a misfortune had befallen 


82 YIDDISH SIIORT STORIES 


her, and she thought she would tell it to the 
elders of the flock. She would show them the 
two other children, real little storks, with red 
feet and red beaks. And she wept again. 

Zelik and Rachel sat on the raft. 

“You know. Rachel?” 

“What?” 

“From now on I'll be able to swim just like 
a duck.” 

“How?” 

“T’ll cut into my toes 

“You mustn’t do it, do you hear, Zelik? I 
swear, I’ll always be mad at you, always!” | 

“Well, let me finish. Listen to me first. 2 

“T won’t let you anyway.” 

“T’ll take the skins of some goose-feet, Pia 
them between my toes, and keep them there 
till they grow into me, and then . 

“And won’t your toes bleed?” Rachel eut him 
short. 

“Of course, they won’t. Ofelo taught me to 
cut a finger with the sharpest knife so that 
no blood would flow. And her mother is a 
witch.” 

“But you are mad with Ofelo.” 

“Of course, I’m mad with her. You know, 
Rachel, Ofelo knows of a grass that if you 
lick it, you sleep a whole day and night. You 
don’t believe me? I swear it.” 

“She does?” 

They were silent for a while. 

“Zelik, is it really .true that Ofelo’s mother 
walks in shoes made of the veins of men?” | 

“Of course, you know, Ofelo’s mother can | 


2 


VIDDISteSiOnwt SORES 3a 


turn “nto a straw and hide herself in the small- 
est crack: Sho ts @ real witch” 

The Vistula rippled. The ripples widened 
into rings. The rings grew longer, swallowed 
each other and grew still larger and larger, and 
the erstwhile quiet Vistula, that had lookea 
like a crystal mirror, grew dark and rigid. 


A swallow fluttered by, and seeing other 
swallows in the water he dropped from on high, 
dipped his beak into. the Vistula. The Vistula 
rippled again. 

Zelik related that below the ‘“‘black stone,” 
in a glass palace lived Wanda the-queen of 
Vistula. In the summer, during the great heat, 
when the Vistula grew shallow, Wanda and her 
sisters gathered on the stone and kidnapped lit- 
tle children. She had attempted to catch him 
three times but he knew a secret saying, which 
he uttered and that caused a fiery ring to grow 
between him and her, and she could not reach 
him. 

“Zelik, why does Wanda need so many chil-. 
dren?” 

“Why does she need them? She kisses them 
till their souls leave their bodies, and then she 
eats their hearts.” 

The children saw a flock of storks settle on 
an island in the middle of the Vistula. 

“They’re going to have a wedding,” Zelik said, 
turning to Rachel. “Come, we’ll get there with 
the boat.” . 

He unbound the boat from the raft. Rachel 
looked around to see if any of her folks noticed 
them, and sprang joyously into it. 

Rachel saw the little crystal waves leap up, 


34 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


swallow each other, and blend before her eyes. 
She became still happier, and gave a strange 
shriek. 


They landed on the island, dragged the boat 
on to the shore, and lay down in the grass. 


The storks sat in a wide semi-circle. Two 
old storks like two prominent citizens, walked 
in the center of the ring. The “he-stork” came 
flying, holding the dead gosling in his beak, 
and carried it to the old pair. “Here, look.” 

The old storks looked long at the gosling, 
smelled it, threw it around with their long 
necks, made some strange sounds and two 
storks rose and flew away. 

Soon they came back with the “she-stork.” 
The messengers with a “Clia-clia, clia-clia,” told 
of her explanation. 

The storks again became noisy and excited, 
broke their ring, pressed into one heap, and 
from far it seemed that a broadboned monster, 
with tens of agile heads stood in the middle of 
the Vistula, and cried “Clia-clia, clia-clia.” 

The storks surrounded the ‘‘she-stork.”’ The 
mate approached her, poked her in the head, 
and then great long necks with open beaks flew 
at her from all sides, feathers whirled in the air, 
and the bird was torn to pieces. , 

It was late. Rachel sat and cried, knowing 
that she and Zelik were guilty of ever 
Zelik lifted her. x 

“Come, Rachel. Let’s go home.” 

They entered the boat. ° Heavy clouds sud- 
denly rose from the Vistula, stoed up like walls 
and all became complete darkness. A bolt of 
lightning lit up the whole river. Rachel be- 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 3D 


came confused. She saw nothing in the blind- 
ing light, forgot that she was in a boat, and 
jumped up. A thunder rolled, as if rocky hiils 
were being sundered. A flood came down from 
heaven. 

Rachel was no longer in the boat. Zelik 
threw off his coat, and searched for‘her, diving 
into the water. But she was not to be seen. 

The Vistula stormed. 

Black waves, like angry animals with foam- 
ing mouths stood up high and threatening, 
roared, and threw themselves at Zelik. And 
lightnings like fiery ribbons, blinded his eyes 
on all sides. The boat was already far from 
him, It drifted down the river. A wave cov- 
ered Zelik, and he felt that he was growing 
lighter. He ceased to struggle, and saw a palace 
with green lights closing towards him. Wanda, 
surrounded by whitish lightning, hung in the 
air above him. She called him to her, showed 
him Rachel, sent lightning to him, and the 
flashes like long tongues became thinner and 
thinner. The lightnings tickled him, kissed 
him, burned him, and his mother stood over 
him, squeezed lemons into sugar, and put it 
into his mouth. And suddenly Wanda spread 
out her watery tresses. They became longer, 
enfolded him, and water poured on him from 
a thousand pipes, extinguishing the lightning 
flashes. He felt so well, so well. And he 
swam on. 

—Translated by Jacob Robbins. 


36 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


A TALE OF A HUNGRY MAN 
DAVID PINSKI 


Itsye had for two days in succession had 
nothing in his mouth; in other words, he had 
been hungering. But on the third day, for three 
brass buttons he wheedled the lunch out of a 
little Hebrew school pupil that studied in the 
school of his yard—two little buttered cakes 
and swallowed them eagerly. ‘hen he became 
angry. The cakes were a mere morsel to him, 
but now he had at least a little strength with 
which to feel anger, and was seized with an 
impulse to accomplish evil. His fingers itched 
with the desire. First of all he launched a 
wicked kick in the direction of Zhutshke, the 
little dog which the landlady of his house held 
dearer than her own children. ZhutshKe ran 
off yelping with pain, but this was not enough | 
for Itsye. He tore up a stone that had been 
frozen to the earth and with all his strength 
sent it flying after the dog. It did not strike 
the animal, however, but landed on the door of 
Simkin the lawyer’s house. It struck with a 
resounding blow, and Itsye felt satisfied, for he 
wouldn’t have cared had the stone struck Sim- 
kin or Simkin’s wife on the head. 

But with all this his hunger was not appeased > 
in the slightest, nor was his seething heart 
calmed in the smallest degree. He waxed still 
angrier, for he felt that these were mere trifles, 
that he had accomplished nothing with them. 


| 
YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 37 


He walked through the gate, glanced up and 
down the street, and felt that he was an enemy 
to every passer-by, and especially to every one 
that rode. He cursed them with bitter oaths 
and would gladly, with his own. hands, have 
executed all tortures upon them. 


Another little pupil approached the gate; he 
was wrapped in a broad scarf and wore the 
large shoes of a grown-up person. He held his 
‘hands inside the scarf, and whether because 
he was indifferent or because it was too cold, 
did not remove them to wipe his nose, from 
which mucus leaked down to his mouth. 


Out of his pocket peeped a crust of bread. 
Itsye was seized with a longing for it, but the 
appearance of the poor child restrained him. 
He sought, however, to convince himself that 
he was incensed against the child, even as he 
was against the whole world, and that he ought 
to give him a hard kick, as he had just done 
to Zhutshke. He seized the child by the nose, 
then struck him on the cap and scowled, “Slob, 
it’s running into your mouth!” The child was 
frightened, brought his elbow up to his nose 
and ran off. But soon he turned back, looked 
at his unexpected enemy and began to cry, 
“Wicked Itsye! Itsye the bad man!” And he 
disappeared through the gate. Itsye did not 
even deign to look at him. 

He leaned against the gate. Why? He did 
not himself know. At any rate, he was weary. 
Angry and exhausted. The two cakes had only 
excited him. Food, food! He could see before 
his eyes the piece of bread in the poor boy’s 
torn pocket. That would have come in very 


38 YiDDISH SHORT STORIES 


handy. He was sorry that he hadn’t taken it 
away. A whole big piece of bread.... 

‘He leaned more heavily against the gate, not 
knowing why and not knowing what was to 
come, or what would result from his standing 
there. The cold grew intense, but Itsye did ~ 
not feel it, for he was angry and paid no at- 
tention to it. Besides, he had no place of 
refuge. Up there in his garret it was still 
colder. Moreover, there was nobody there, and 
he would have none tipon whom to vent his 
wrath. 


He stood thinking of nothing. It was im- 
possible for him to think. He no longer knew 
precisely that he was in a rage; it seemed to 
him that today he would work a very clever 
piece of malice. He knew nothing about dyna- 
mite; otherwise he would have thought un- 
ceasingly of bombs, and would have painted 
himself pictures of the whole city, the whole 
country, the world itself, being blown by him 
into atoms. But he gave no thought to any 
definite project. He was certain that he would 
do something malicious enough. He felt it. 


Two laborers passed by and were conversing 
about hunting for a job. It flashed through his 
head that he would stop looking for work even 
if the employers starved to death! At the 
same time he felt that his seeking was all in 
vain. He would find no work today, any more 
than vesterday, or the day before, or the day 
before that, or the whole twenty-seven days in 
which he had been searching for employment. 

In his mind’s eye he could see “tomorrow,” 
—a dragging, cloudy day, on which he would 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 39 


be faint with hunger. But he di€@ not care to 
think of tomorrow. Only “today”... Today 
he must accomplish something; then he would 
know what would come tomorrow, the day 
after, and all] the other days. Wherefore he 
remained leaning against the gate and looked 
into the street with a cutting smile upon his 
pale lips and in his dull, weary eyes, without 
the trace of a thought in his head. He even 
ceased scolding and cursing. 


_ All at once he tore himself away from the 
gate and began to walk. He gave no heed to 
direction. He lost his bearings, unknown to 
himself. He strode on, unaware that he was 
moving. His feet were like logs and he could 
scarcely lift them. He became soon aware that 
he was no longer at the gate, and that he was 
wandering about the street. Then it seemed to 
him that he had wished and resolved to take 
a little exercise. His feet must get warm. But 
he affected not to be troubled about his feet 
any more than about the cold itself, which 
pierced him to the very marrow. 


He walked alone slowly, cautiously, calmly. 
The street on which he was led at one end to 
the city-market and at the other to the mu- 
nicipal garden. He had no idea of whither he 
was headed, but the nearer he approached to 
the market the shriller and clearer became the 
noises from that vicinity. Then he realized 
the direction in which his feet were taking him, 
and again it seemed to him that this was ex- 
actly what he had desired and determined upon, 
This was the very spot for him to execute his 
plan of yengeance. He paused on the curb, 


40 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


The great Market-place seethed with! shout- 
ing, gesticulating persons. The air resounded 
with the din of thousands of human beings. 
The clamorous despair of the wretched poor, 
the grunting indifference of the sated rich, the 
screeching impudence of the money-hungry,— 
all mingled here and rose above the heads of 
the multitude, deafening the ears of the un- 
accustomed spectator. About Itsye all manner 
of individuals were walking, hurrying, scam- 
pering, with and without bundles. Almost every 
passer-by touched him, jostled against him, but 
he stood there calm, motionless. It occurred 
to him that this in itself was good,—that in 
this manner alone he was doing harm. Yes, he 
must continue to stand here and _ obstruct 
everybody’s passage! His eyes, however, . 
darted about the square, as if seeking there 
just what form his vindictive ire should as- 
sume. They rested upon the bread-shops and 
the bank-stalls, laden with “Korah’s weaith.”’ 
And he began to contemplate how it would be 
if he made off with a packet of bank-notes.... 

A porter with a large case on his shoulders 
bumped against him, nearly pushing him over. 
He felt an intense pain in his back and came 
to himself. He turned red with anger. 

“You plague, you! Where are your eyes?” 

The porter mumbled something from under 
his burden and continued:on his way with 
heavy steps. » ' 

_Itsye, however, felt the pain and rubbed his 
back. 

“V’ll bury you together with the case, you 
piece of carrion-meat!” 


——S ee ee ay 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 41 


The porter craned his neck from under his 
case and looked back at the shouting man. 
Itsve’s appearance called forth little deference 
from the toiler; he stopped for a moment and 
eyed his opponent with scorn. 


“Hold your mouth, or I'll stop it for you so 


that you'll be dumb forever. Ill show you 


what ‘carrion-meat’ means, you bloody dog!” 


The porter went on his way, grumbling and 
cursing. Itsye muttered a few imprecations 
and turned his head in another direction. 


“What have you planted yourself here for, 
in everybody’s way” he heard a surly voice 
exclaim behind him. 

He looked around. Kaplan, the shopkeeper, 
was standing in the doorway of his shop, eye- 
ing him angrily. He replied coarsely: 

“What worry is that of eRe AY 

Kaplan grew excited. 

' “Tll soon show you what worry of mine it 
is!” And he sent the errand-boy after a police- 
man. 

As he ran by Itsye the boy jeered, with mis- 
chievous eyes, “Just wait a moment! You'll 
soon have a good drubbing!” 

Itsye spitefully refused to move. To hell 
with everybody! : 

Now then,—what was it he had been think- 
ing of before? And his glances began to wander 
across the square and the faces of the people, 
as he tried to recall his previous thoughts. 
When he noticed the boy returning with a- 
policeman he turned his head indifferently 
aside. 

“What are you standing here for? Move on! 


42, YIDDISH SHOR’ SrORis~ 


Off with you!* commanded the guardian of 
order. 

Itsye slowly faced about. 

“Is this spot private property, what?” 

““Move on, I tell you!”’ 

Itsye resumed his former position. 

“Move on!” 

The official was now in an ugly mood and 
had raised his sabre. 

Itsye felt that he must refuse to stir. But 
something moved his feet. It was the instinct 
that a policeman must be obeyed. 


He went off. Back to his street. Slowly, 
searcely moving his legs, without looking back. 
at the official. 


He was frozen through and through. It was 
as if he had no feet. As he approached the 
gate to his house he felt that it would be 
pleasant to lie down a while. This he felt 
against his will. He must remain in the street 
because he was filled with rage and must vent 
it in some vindictive deed. But his heavy, 
frozen limbs drew him to his attic, where it 
was frightfully cold, where the icy wind 
moaned and whistled. The wind was not so 
noisy here below. It seemed that his feet 
knew he would hunt up all sorts of old rags 
and wrap them around his frozen members. 


So he allowed his feet to carry him along. 
On the way to the garret they overturned a 
slop-pail and stumbled across a cat. It was 
they, too, who opened the door of his room. 
The door flew back and struck against some- 
thing soft. The soft object fell, and the feet 
had to step over a heap of tatters out of which 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 43 


peered the parchment-yellow, wrinkled, peaked 
face of an old shrivelled-up woman. 
“Wow—wow—wow!” she began to. wail, 
hopelessly enmeshed in her rags. It was the 
deaf-and-dumb landlady of his lodgings. 
He made no reply. The feet were already 


in bed. 
by * * 


aie slept for a long time. It was already 
dark when the feet slipped down from the bed. 
At once he recollected that he was angry, and 
felt his ire course through him. But he was 
weary and weak. So weak, in fact, that he 
decided not to get up, but rather to lie there 
forever. “A piece of bread!” flitted through 
his mind. He could behold rows of well-pro- 
vided houses, countless kitchens, heaps of 
bread-loaves. But he continued to lie there, 
because he did not know,—could not begin to 
know, how to get them. 

At last an idea flashed upon him. “From 
the deaf-and-dumb old witch!” 

He arose from the three-legged bed and 
' walked into the landlady’s room. The bundle 
of rags was seated at the table, before a small 
night-lamp that lacked a chimney, eating from 
a pot of water containing crumbled bits of hard 
bread. 

He approached the bundle of rags and in- 
dicated with his fingers that he was very 
hungry and wished a piece of bread. She 
clutched the pot more tightly and began to 
bark savagely. This meant that she hadn't 
enough for herself, and that she didn’t care 
to give him anything, anyway, since he had 


44 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


struck her with the door before, throwing her 
over, and since he wasn’t acting properly, not 
having paid his rouble and a half rent for the 
past two months. 


He knew very well just what her barking 
signified, and eyed her as if deliberating what 
course to pursue. Quite cold-bloodedly he 
wrenched the pot from her grasp, pulled out a 
piece of bread and crammed it into his mouth. 
The tattered form seized him, with a frightful, 
wailing yelp, and drew the pot toward her. 
He raised it above her reach and continued to - 
chew. The first bite had excited him. He 
began to eat faster, swallowing almost without 
chewing. The old woman barked and howled 
at the top of her voice, tugging at his arms. 
He thrust her away. She fell upon her knees, 
grasped his legs and with a wild gasping and 
snorting bit into them with her gums, in which 
stood only two side teeth. He pressed her with 
his knees to the floor and sat down upon her, 
She could no longer move. 

Now he would eat in peace. 

He stuck his fingers into the pot without 
finding anything. He almost yelled with fury. 
His heart began to bound wildly; his eyes 
sparkled. He must do something. He sprang 
to his feet, and cried out, wildly, “More bread, 
old witch!”’ 

He shoved her with his foot, emptied the 
pot of water on her head and began to look 
for bread. He found nothing; there was noth- 
ing to be found. He continued his search, how- 
ever. He overturned the old chest, scattered 
the bedclothes, broke the only chair. He be- 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 45 


came furious, not knowing what he did. The 
old woman seized him, dragging him toward 
the door with terrified shrieks. With all his 
might he thrust her off. The old woman’s head 
struck against the high oven; she groaned un- 
eannily. Her moaning brought him to his 
senses. He was frightened, and held in his 
breath. He stepped toward her. Was she still 
alive? The aged landlady began to get up. He 
now breathed more freely and dashed out of 
the room. 


He was exhausted, yet excited. He desired 
to weep,—to weep bitterly. He was thoroughly 
«Shamed of the encounter with the deaf-and- 
dimb landlady. He had robbed her of her 
wretched supper and had come near killing 
her. And his hunger was now greater than 
ever. “‘A-a-ah!”’ 

He pressed both his fists to his mouth and 
began to gnaw at them. The pain grew in- 
tense, yet he kept on gnawing. He wished to 
“feel his heart.’ 

The door opened and the old woman ap- 
peared. A narrow shaft of light shone over 
the dark steps, falling like a grey strip, upon 
Itsye’s shoulder. But the old woman did not 
see him, and she sent after the supposedly 
vanished fellow several infuriated screams, 
more cutting than the most devastating curses. 
Itsye shuddered, stopped chewing his hands 
and remained motionless, holding-in his breath. 
The landlady returned to her room and locked 
the door. - 

“Locked out!” flashed through his mind at 
once, His head became warm. He tried to 


46 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


consider what was now to be done, but he 
saw no prospects before him. He felt an im- 
pulse to batter down the door, enter the room, 
get into bed and lie there. He had already 
rolled his fists into a ball, But after striking 
the door a resounding blew, he ran down the 
stairs. Only when he had reached the bottom 
did he ask himself, “Why that blow?” 

It was snowing and a strong wind was 
whistling and moaning. The cold went right 
through Itsye’s bones; he began to tremule, 
and his teeth knocked together. He huddled 
up in his tattered cotton coat, from which 
hung patches, strips of lining and wadding. 
He groaned in despair and stepped back into 
the entrance of the house. He felt a tug at 
his heart, and was once more seized with a 
desire to weep, to weep. 

“What will’ come of this?, What?” 

He could behold no answer. He would today 

be frozen to death or die of hunger. 

‘ “Oh, for something to eat! Food, food!” 

He looked about. He was standing near a 
cellar, the door to which was protected by a 
heavy lock. He placed his hand upon the 
lock, with no thought of robbery. As he felt 
the cold iron, however, it occurred to him 
that it would be a good idea to break off 
the lock and obtain access to the cellar. He 
pulled at the lock. No. This was beyond 
his strength... He repeated the attempt, and at 
length summoned all his force and gave a 
violent wrench. 

The lock merely made a loud noise; noth- 
ing else. -He was intimidated by the knock. 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 47 


He looked around and quickly deserted the 
entrance to the house. 


Had he really desired to steal? And if he 
had succeeded in tearing the lock away, would 
he really have entered and committed theft? 
He could not believe this. He had been born 
into poverty; had been reared as an orphan 
in misery and ill-treatment, yet his hand had 
never been raised to another’s property. “Scan- 
dal-raiser,” they used to call him, and “wick- 
edest of the wicked”; for he never was silent 
when wronged, and all were his enemies be- 
cause of this vindictiveness. Yet these self- 
‘same persons admitted that you could leave 
heaps of gold with him in perfect security. 
And just now he had been on the point of 
stealing! That morning he had also thought 
of stealing. What? Would he really have 
stoleu? And perhaps yes. Ah, he was so 
hungry! “Food, food, food!” 

Again he surveyed the neighborhood. He 
was in the street! He had not even noticed 
it when he left the yard. What was he going 
to do in the street? Whither would he go? 
“Oh, for a bite!” But there was no sense in 
standing. here in the street. He must walk. 
“Walk wherever my eyes lead me, until I fall 
—fall, and an end of me!” 

Again his wrath returned. Anger against 


himself and the whole world. At once, how- 


ever, he saw that he lacked the strength to 
be angry—that his heart was growing weaker. 
“Food, food, food!” 

He staggered along, casting glances in every 
direction and knitting his brews so as to see 


bo PiDPi SA SOR Te Seon igs 


more clearly through the thickly falling snow. 
He had no notion of whither he was going, 
nor was he at all interested. He was moving 
so as not to remain on the same spot. He 
peered more intently than ever, although he 
felt that he would see nothing but large snow- 
flakes. One thing he knew very well-—that he 
wanted and must have something to éat, even 
if the world came to an end. ‘Food, food, 
food!” he groaned within him desperately. 
He reached the municipal garden. The ‘pleas- 
ure-spot was situated upon a high hill, at the 
foot of which flowed the broad, deep river. 
During the winter there was usually skating 
on the river, and above, in the garden, a 
crowd of curious onlookers. But now there 
was not a trace of human beings in the garden. 
Not even the lamps were visible through the 
thick snow. They illuminated only the space 
within a few paces of them. Itsye was at a 
loss whether to feel vexed or not at the ab- 
sence of people. He did not look back, and 
continued on his way. He approached the top 
of the hill and looked down upon the frozen 
river. He could see nothing. There came to 
his ears the shrill blows of heavy iron. Mou- 
jiks were opening a hole in the ice. And 
in his weary thought he beheld a broad, deep 
hole down there, and he was drawn thither. 
The suggestion came to him to hurl himself 
down from the hill into the deep stream. He 
would raise no outery; he would not call for 
help. He would drown himself quite silently. 
But he recognized that this was merely a 
thought: the important thing was that he felt 


PUI OSS ASE Olea f ad 


Very weak and waS raveiuus.y wunsry. “Food, 
food, ftocd!” 


He looked about, as if he would have liked 
to see something eatable in the garden. Be- 
fore im was only the endlessly falling snow. 
Snow below him, snow on the bare trees, snow 
in the air. His legs bent beneath him—now, 
now he was about to fall. But he did not wish 
to fall. He desired something to eat, and 
gathering all his strength he continued his 
wanderings. Again he moved forward, not 
knowing whither. He walked along a deserted 
path, through drifts of snow that fell into his 
torn shoes—all alone, the only living creature 
in the dark, forsaken g2rden. He could neither 
hear nor see anything. He moved along be- 
cause he had nowhere to go, and particularly 
because he wanted something to eat, eat, eat. 
He thought of nothing, nor could he think if 
he tried. Something was driving him on, and 
he continued on his way with the despairing, 
innev groan, “Food, food, food!” 

He reached the square before the theater. 

The bright gleam of the electric lights brought 
him to his senses. He stopped. As he did so, 
he came near falling. He stumbled forward 
and leaned against the wall of a building. He 
felt that his shoes were filled with snow. This 
however, produced no effect whatever upon 
him. What did vex him was that he coukl 
searcely stand on his feet, that his heart was 
feartully weak and his desire for food _ per- 
sisted in growing. He would remain standing 
there. Whither else should he go? Here, at 
least, it was light, and soon he would s™ 


od YibdDisH SHORT STORIES 


people. Many people-——rich, happy. And what 
of it if he should see the wealthy, sated crowd? 
He would beg alms. He would say that he had 
not eaten for three days. 


Ask alms! He shuddered with repulsion at 
the idea. But he was so terribly hungry! He 
had been on the point of stealing. Which was 
better, stealing or begging? He leaned against 
the wall, threw his head back, looked with a 
dull glance into the snowy distance, and with 
his blunted mind, sought a reply. 

The night watchman approached him and 
pushed him away. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Itsye scarcely moved. He could not raise 
his feet. 

“Do you want to be arrested?” : 

Itsye nearly fell; he was greatly excited, 
but he composed himself and gathered all his 
strength in a desperate effort to: walk off. 
Ouf! He could not feel his legs. Hunks of 
ice! He began to kick one foot against the 
other. 

“Well! Get amove on! Faster, there!” 

Itsye snarled through his clamped teeth. 

“Can’t you see I can barely move? Why do 
you chase me away? Better ask whether 
I’m not hungry!” * 

He crossed the street. Several stores were 
still open. Hadn’t he better go in and beg 
alms? He halted before a window. He de- 
sired to take counsel with himself. 

“T see you! I see you over there!” he heard 
the watchman shout. 

He proceeded further along the street, to 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 51 


the other end, where it was almost pitch dark. 
There he paused for a while to kick his feet 
again. Then he walked along, He made a 
circle around the theatre and came to a halt 
before the entrance. There were no _ police- 
men in sight. They were inside the lobby 
seeking shelter from the wind and storm. 
Itsye remained there, hopping now on one foot, 
now on the other. Without any definite 
thoughts, utterly purposeless. He remained 
there because it was light, because inside sat 
wealthy sated persons enjoying themselves! 
And he must stand outside, covered with snow, 
frozen, hungry, and wouid be joyful if he found 
a piece of bread! His anger began to return. 
And he recollected that in the morning he had 
desired to do something, to wreak vengeance 
..-.Just what had it been? He wrinkled his 
forehead. Just what had he meant to do? 


“Ah! Much I can think up in there, now!” 

He cried this out with an intense self-scorn. 
He was terrified at the sound of his voice, 
and glanced at the large glass doors. Nobody 
was looking at him; then he had not been 
heard. Whereupon this talking to himself be- 
came pleasant, It afforded distraction, So 
he- commenced to speak. Detached phrases— 
fragments of his weary, confused thoughts. 

“T’ll. think up something, pah!....With a 
_knife...-Or set fire.,..That’s what I ought 
to....That’s something!....Let them all roast 


am I waiting for?....That wouldn’t give me 
anything!....They’d rather call the police! 
....Kaplan—may the fires of hell seize him!” 


52 YIDDISH SilORT STORIES 


He did not cease his chatter. And the more 
he spoke, the angrier he grew. He forgot his 
hunger, he now “felt” his heart. He cursed 
with imprecations as bitter as death and felt 
new life course through his veins. He cast 
all manner of accusations upon the audience 
inside, eating and drinking its fill and pur- 
suing all manner of pleasures. 

“To steal from those people and murder 
them is. not a bit wrong!” he philosophised. 
He was now in a mood for anything at all, 
and would commit in absolute indifference 
whatever suggested itself. It seemed to him 
that his strength could cope with any task 
now—that it was a giant’s strength. 

The glass. doors. swung .open. - The! gen- 
darmes appeared; followed immediately by the 
crowd. Itsye remained calmly in his place. 
He did not even cease talking to -himseli. 
The gendarmes had not yet noticed him. They 
were busy with the sleighs. Itsye was there- 
fore able to continue his conversation undis- 
turbed. 

‘Here they are already!” he said. ‘“‘They’ve 
had a good time and plenty to eat and drink, 
the dogs! In warm fur coats, arm in arm 
with their wives, or even with prostitutes....” 

A few passers-by eyed the snow-covered 
vagabond. 

“Drunk or crazy,’ remarked one of them. 
They went on their way. Its:‘e cried after 
them: 

“You’re drunk yourself! I’m not drunk, you 
curs! I’m hungry, you pimps! I robbed a poor 


+ 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES bo 


drunk! You curs!....I’ve been hunting work 
for a month, cholera seize you! Not a bite in 
my mouth for three days, you dogs!....” 

A gendarme heard his voice and approached 
to discover who was shouting and cursing. 

“What are you screaming for? Move!” 

The officer gave him a violent push. 

» “What are you shoving about?” cried Itsye 
and he raised his hand against the officer. He 
felt that it would be a treat to deliver a slap,— 
a fiery slap. He waited for one more push. 

The gendarme noticed his gesture. 

“Ha, you Jewish ‘phiz’!” 

Itsye’s hand descended. The blow resounded 
loudly. A crowd gathered. Itsye desired to 
repeat the act. He was now wild. He wished 
to strike about him, strangle persons, bite. But 
he received a hard blow upon the head. He 
grew dizzy and toppled over. Now he could 
feel feet upon him. He knew that he was be- 
ing trampled upon, but he could not open his 
eyes, nor could he move a limb. Soon he was 
lifted and dragged somewhere. With blows 
across the back, the head and the stomach, 
and with the ugliest oaths. He could not pro- 
tect himself. He could not even speak. Only 


‘rave and groan horribly. 


Softer and weaker became the raving and 
the groaning, and at last he lay quiet, motion- 
less. Dense darkness hovered over him, en- 
veloped him, engulfed him. His eyes were 
closed, but he felt the darkness. Like a heavy 
load it pressed down upon him. He knew. in 
an obscure way, that he had struck somebody 
and had been beaten up badly in return. And 


54 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


now he was quiet and peaceful, and he won- 
dered at the peaceful feeling. He began to 
grope about with his hands, his eyes still 
closed. He struck against a hard, dusty floor. 
Where could he be? The question flew through 
his entire being in a most undistinguishable 
manner. With a great effort he raised his eye- 
brows. The dense gloom settled upon his open 
eyes. He could see nothing and his eyes shut 
heavily again. ‘Once more he began to scrape 
about with his hands and opened his eyes. 
Wider, this time. Something dazzled him. 
Above, on the ceiling, shone a small gray7 light. 
It entered from the single window, which was 
built in high on the wall. Itsye looked first 
at the strip of light and then at the little 
window with the iron bars. He eyed it for a 
long time. As one who has awaked from a 
dream and has not yet come to himself. 

Suddenly the blood rushed to his head. He 
sat up quickly. He recognized the bars and 
now realized that he was in jail. They had 
2iven him a good drubbing and had thrown him 
nto a dark hole. He became strangely warm. 
na moment’s time he foresaw everything that. 
iwaited him; the blows that were yet in store, 
—the trial and the sentence,—prison and con- 
vict labor. He groaned in deep despair. Ah! 
Aad now he felt that his head pained excru- 
viatingly; his face and his whole body, like- 
wise. He hastened to feel his head and his 
face. His hat was gone. His hair was moist 
and sticky. He touched an open wound. With 
his fingers he followed the sticky trail. Blood 
everywhere. On his head, all over his face 
and on his bare chest. 


Y.DD.:SH SHORT STORIES o4 


He had a desire to weep at his great misery 
and boundless despair. 

“Father!” he wished to cry, and “Mother, 
dear!” and “God!” Words that he had rarely 
used; beings he had never known. His heart 
contracted bitterly and he lay with his face to 
the floor; his body shook convulsively with 
_ his deep lamentation. 


For the first time in his life was he weep- 
ing so. His was a bitter nature, and as often 
as life had brought:him tears he had been able 
always to swallow them. He knew that his 
tears would soften nobody,—that they would 
only make him ridiculous. They would mock 
him as a soft-hearted fool, and that must never 
be. With teeth clenched together this wretched 
orphan had gone through life in eternal hos- 
tility to all about him. His eyes had been 
often suffused with blood, but never with tears. 

Now, however, he neither could nor desired 
to kold them back. He wept until the tears 
refused to come. Then he was overcome by a 
fainting sensation, and he-thought that death 
was near. It would come to him just as he lay 
there. He stretched himself out, closed his 
eyes and waited for death. To lie thus, to fall 
asleep forever and cease to be. To be liber- 
ated once for all from the desolate days be- 
hind him and from the misery ahead. 

He yearned for death. 

“Ah, to die!” 

Before his sight there began to float dead 
bodies that he had seen during his life. Such 
he desired now to become. Then he beheld 
before him the hanging form of water-carrier 


56 NOPD TD Sis SOs Bes Sua ats 


Kirillo. All at once he sat up. <A certain 
thought had raised ‘him: he, Aoo, would hang 
himself. This waiting for death would not do. 
i-c would not die so soon, if he waited. He 
peered into the thick darkness and thought. 
‘ne impression of his whole life rose before 
hm. Not a single day of happiness; not a 
moment of rest. Years of unceasing care and 
of constant struggle, of laborious toil and fre- 
quent hunger. And the future threatened still 
worse. As black as the» dense gloom about 
him. Long years of incarceration, in the 
prisoners’ ranks, and then—hunger once more. 


He raised his eves to the iron bars of the 
window and felt the thick rope by which his 
trousers were held in place. Then he looked 
around and cocked his ear. Was anyvody 
there? He heard no sound. He could scarcely 
lift himself up. His legs barely sustained him 
and he was so dizzy. He reached out to the 
wall and leaned for a moment against it. Then, 
with soft step, he investigated the room, grop- 
ing about with hands outstretched. Nobody 
was there. He had frightened some mice and 
could hear the patter of their retreating paws. 
He stopped at the window and stretched his 
arms upward. He could not reach the bars. 
In one of the corners, however, there was a 
bench, against which he had stumbled as he 
eroped about the cell. With difficulty ‘he 
dragged it over to the windcw. The effort so 
weakened him that he was forced to sit down. 
Slowly he untied the rope around his trousers. 
He began to fashion a noose, lapsing into 
thought as he did so. Once more he looked 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES oT 


back upon the wretched past and forward into 
the dark future. Again he could see not a ray 
of light: neither behind nor before. With 
teeth tightly clamped he made the knot and 
cursed life, and his heart seethed with bitter 
hatred for all mankind. With the self-same 
noose that he was now making, how gladly 
would he have encircled the necks of every 
human being and strangled the whole world. 
So, and so, and so! 


% 


The noose had been ready for a Jong time, 
yet he still sat meditating. He cursed and be- 
rated humanity, calling down upon it all man- 
ner of misfortune. Ah, how gladly he would 
revenge himself upon them! 


Gradually one thing became clear to him. 
His death in itself would be a good veng2ance. 
When day should come, and they would pre- 
pare to resume their ill-treatment of him, they 
would find him dead. Ba-a-a! A plague upon 
all of them! Good-by, Itsye! No more Itsye! 
No more Itsye to oppress, to persecute, to 
abandon to starvation! They would stand be- 
fore his corpse like whipped curs, cresttallen, 
and would vent their intense disappointment 
in a vile oath. Ah, that was a precious thought! 


He sprang hastily to his feet, jumped upon 
the chair, reached to the bars and tied the rope 
around them. His hands trembled; he shook 
with fever. He poked his head into the noose 
and kicked over the bench. 


And as the rope tightened he was seized with 
a desire to laugh. To laugh like a conqueror, 


58 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


like a master. But his eyes began to bulge out, 
his tongue protruded, and his face turned a 
pale blue, 


But the protruding tongue still mocked. 
“Ba-a! Good-bye, Itsy2! No more Itsye!....” 
—Translated by Isaac Goldberg. 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES Dy 


A STRANGE CLIMATE 
SHOLOM ASCH 


Dr. Lazarovitch came home from the hospital 
in the evening, locked himself in his cabinet, 
as his custom was of late, and remained alone 
till supper. The servant had already knocked 
at the door several times, calling him to eat. 
The doctor gave vent to the usual grunt that 
meant he would soon come out, and rfre- 
mained locked in his cabinet. But this time 
he was not let alone as usual. From the next 
room was heard his wife, Anna Isakoyna’s, soft, 
weak voice, saying: “Boris, we are waiting.’ 

~The voice woke the doctor from his day-dream. 
He felt as if he heard a strange, unusual sound. 

For more than a year, ever since his oldest 
son, Mikhail, had gone to Moscow, and had 
been admitted to the faculty of medicine in the 
university, Dr. Lazarovitch tried to avoid his 
family. The family consisted, besides his old- 
est son, of his wife Anna Isakovna, who was 
always sick (and whom he saw seldom, any- 
how), of a daughter, Jeyna, and of a boy, Solo- 
mon, who attended the fifth grade of Gym- 
nasium, and whom he loved very much. The 
doctor avoided his home, trying to be there as’ 
little as possible. And when he did come home 
from the hospital, he always locked himself in 
his cabinet, as if he were working. But to 
-tell the truth, he did not work. He had not 
held a book in his hands since he left the Uni- 

versity. He thought of his oldest son, who had 


60 YIDDISH S::ORT STORIES 


gone to Moscow, and had entered the Uni- 
versity through the good offices of the doctor’s 
sood friend, Vasili Ivanovitch, the president of 
«a District Court. Dr. Lazarovitch knew, as well 
as the rest of the family, that his son had not 
been admitted through any good offices. The 
“good offices’ were mentioned only before 
other people. Mikhail had adopted Christianity. 
Though no one spoke of it, and the family never 
mentioned it, yet Dr. Lazarovitch had begun 
to feel lonely since that time, and used to sit 
whole nights locked up in his cabinet. And 
when, after two hours he left his room, he 
would find the table deserted, and laid for one. 
His whole family had become very serious, 
each being occupied with his own concerns, 
and Ana Isakovna went to bed very early, as 
was her custom. The doctor would thought- 
fully and hurriedly finish his meal, go back to 
his cabinet, take up an old “‘Ryech,” and bury 
himself in a year-old speech of a Constitutional 
Democrat regarding the Budget. 

Tt was his custom to fall asleep over the 
speech. Sometimes he would not awake until. 
morning. Sometimes the old servant who had 
been with him many years would come in and 
wake him. Then he would undress and throw 
himself on a lounge that stood in the corner, 
on which he examined patients in the daytime, 
and above which hung an old magazine repro- 
duction of Rembrandt’s “School of Anatomy.” 

Because of this, the doctor was so much sur- 
prised when he heard his wite calling him. 
He understood that something new must have 
happened, and he was afraid of this new thinz. 
When he came out of his cabinet he found his 


YIDDiSH SHORT STORIES 61 


family waiting for him at the table. This was 
so new to him that he grew glad and thought 
to himself that it was a very good thing to 
eat together with his children. But in his 
heart of hearts he was afraid of the sudden 
innovation. He was too nervous to wait long, 
so he asked as soon as he sat down: “What 
has happened?” 

The children locked at each other, and re- 
mained silent. Anna Isakovna, who felt better 
than usually, answered: “Nothing has hap- 
pened.” 

At the silence that reigned at the table, the 
doctor became still more excited. He cried that 
something must have. happened; that they 
ought not torture him, but tell him at once. 
Anna Isakovna answered him as if imparting 
a great sorrow: “Mikhail writes that he is 
coming home for Passover.” 

The doctor grew silent. The rest were silent 
also, as if a dead man were in the house. 

That night the doctor did not fall asleep over 
the ‘“Ryech.” He was thinking of himself and 
his son. Truth to say, he did not understand 
why Mikhail’s apostasy had made such an im: 
pression on him. Neither he nor his had ever 
been religious Jews. He himself remembered 
very little of his religion. Passover and Yom 
Kippur were to him merely vague memories of 
childhood. His father, a storekeeper in a little 
town, had been a pious Jew. But since he had 
left the town in his youth going to study in 
Moscow, he had not seen his father and had 
lost track of the holidays. Anna Isakovna, with 
whom he had become acquainted in Moscow, 
and whe. he had married there, also knew 


62 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


nothing of Jewish holidays. And his children 
were reared like the children of so many 
parents in his circumstances, without any tra- | 
ditions. They lived according to customs and 
holidays of his Gentile neighbors. And nat- 
urally, Mikhail grew up ripe for Christianity. 
He was able, and from the fifth grade on he 
began to show an exceptional faculty for mathe- 
matics. When he began to study in earnest, no 
one of the family had the slightest doubt that 
Mikhail, in order to avoid the obstacles that lay 
between himself and his career, would have to 
adopt Christianity. The father, the mother, 
and Mikhail himself, had always thought so, 
though they never said a word about it. Then, 
why did it torture him so, now that Mikhail 
had already done it? What new thing was it 
that was waking in him, making him a stranger 
in his own house? 

The doctor had thought much about this in 
the last days, trying to revive the memories of 
his own lost years to the utmost of his powers. 
But it was hard. When he began to think of: 
them he would grow tired. His broad-boned 
body grew heavy and _ he became sleepy, for in 
the twenty-three years that he had spent in 
the provincial town within the Pale, he had for- 
gotten how to think. Once upon a time, like 
other students of his age, he had been an 
idealist. He would finish his studies, he then 
thought, and go to the people. He would estab- 
lish himself in some out-of-the-way village, 
there to heal the peasants and their wives and 
teach the little boys to read and write, for 
many students talked of that at the time. Put 
when Dr. Lazarovitch was graquated he did not. 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 63 


go to any out-of-the-way village. He fell in love 
with Anna Isakovna, a daughter of Director 
Solomon. Solomon, an old, worked-out factory 
invalid, who had four daughters, was often 
visited by the Jewish students in Moscow. The 
girls played the piano, and the Director’s home 
was aristocratic. The lackey, an old Gentile, 
served at the table in gloves, though there was 
not much to serve. The gloved lackey and the 
piano-playing made a deep impression on Dr. 
Lazarovitch, and to his share fell the weakest 
and ugliest of the Director’s daughters, Anna. 

But as soon as he married the aristocrat he 
forgot all his ideals. He went with his wife, 
who began to ail shortly after the wedding. to 
a town in the Jewish Pale, where Director 
Solomon had many relatives and acquaintances. 
Here he began to build up a practice. This 
partly meant that even in the Pale one could do 
much, that ideals are necessary not only in the 
village, but also in the town. But soon the 
doctor became acquainted with the intellectuals 
of the town, with the druggist and the Presi- 
dent of the Court, and spent most of his nights 
at the club, with him, playing cards. He tried 
to avoid being at home. He did not love his 
‘wife over much after she began to ail, but this 
did not prevent his having five children with 
her, two of which had been still-born; the other 
three had grown up almost without his knowl- 
edge, till his card-playing had been interrupted 
by the apostasy of Mikhail. 


’ Dr. Lazarovitch became more and more rest- 
less as the time of his son’s arrival from Mos- 
cow approached. The entire house lapsed into 


64 YIDDISH SHORT STORLES 


silence. All seemed afraid of somethinz. The 
doctor begin to feel like a stranger in his own 
house, and could not find a place for himself 
anywhere. He ceased to go to the club, and 
could no longer sit over the “Ryech” in his: 
cabinet. First it seemed to him that he was 
restless because he was unused to things, and 
was afraid of the new event in his home life. 
As soon as he would get used to the fact that 
his son was a Christian, and the town would 
know of it, and all would cease to talk of it at 
last, he too, would become quiet, and his life 
would resume its natural course. But soon he 
realized that his restlessness was not due to 
any strange circumstances, but lay much deep- 
er. He was afraid of something, and did not 
know the cause. He said a thousand times to 
himself that nothing had happened, that his 
son’s apostasy had changed neither himself 
nor his son. He himself was not so religious 
and fanatical as to believe that his son’s change 
of religion should have a deeper meaning, be- 
cause, in truth, neither he nor his son believed 
in God. So how could his son’s outer meta- 
morphosis change his inner psychological con- 
dition? And again, would it pay the able young 
man to give up his career, his abilities, his fu- 
ture, all for the sake of a religious supersti 

tion? Had not Mikhail acted logically when he 
removed once and for all the obstacles that bir- 
ricaded the path of his future? But all these 
explanations could bring the doctor no rest. 
He felt that something more than a mere out- 
ward change had taken place; that a wall stood 
between him and his son; that it divided one 
generation from the other; that his son was 


YIDDISH SIlLORT STORIES 65 


not a continuation cf himself, but that some- 
thing ended in his own self, and something 
new had begun in his son; that they already 
belonged to two different worlds. And he was 
afraid and restless when he contemplated the 
wall that stood between them. 

Two days before Passover, Mikhail -came 
home. The doctor could not see him. He was 
afraid to meet him face to face. He would run 
about among his patients and come home late 
at night, and when in the mornings he heard 
his son’s voice in the next room he would 
tremble. He would look through a-erack in the 
door and try to see how the boy looked. But 
his son had not changed at all. The same child- 
ish face with its familiar childish eyes which 
always touched the doctor’s fathering heart. 
The doctor wondered that his son had not at 
all changed after baptism. He still, looked 
exactly the same. But the doctor was afraid 
of him. 

Throughout the time Mikhail was at home 
the house seemed dead. The usual noise of the 
children on their arrival from school was heard 
no longer. The children, who always walked on 
tiptoe now, could not be heard in the next room. 
They sat reading, each in a different corner, as 
if they were ashamed to look at each other. 
The silence strained the doctor’s nerves still 
more. He wanted to go to the, children many 
times, and play with them, as he used to do 
when they were small. But as soon as he saw 
Mikhail through the keyhole, he grew fright- 
-ened and restrained himself. 

And yet the apostate touched his heart more 
than the others. It seemed to him that the boy 


66 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


looked weaker and sadder since he had become 
a Christian, and the doctor began to pity him. 
He had never felt so near to any of his chil- 
dren before. He was glad and yet sorry that 
he felt so toward his son. Once he saw him 
through a window reading in a corner of the 
room, dressed in the blue uniform that fitted 
him but poorly. The boy felt strange in the 
house, and was afraid to talk loud. His face 
was pale. In his eyes and about his lips lay 
the shadow of a great grief like that which 
lingers about a girl who has lost her innocence. 
The doctor noticed it and a wave of pity swept 
over him. for the child who was inaugurating 
his career in such a sin. He could not restrain 
himself, walked into the room, approached the 
boy, laid his wide, thick hand on the weak, 
childish shoulders, and looked into Mikhail’s 
eyes. 

“Mikhail, how do you feel?” 

The boy trembled. At sight of his father he 
grew pale, and ‘confusedly and involuntarily 
pressing himself to his father, cried: “Papa.” 
But he soon reminded himself of something, 
and remained standing, silent and shamefaced. 
“How did you enter the University?” Dr. 
Lazarovitch asked roughly, and wiped his thick 
face with a broad hand. E 

The boy was silent for a moment. At last 
he viciously bit his thin pale lips and answered: 
“T didn’t know you would take it like this.” 

The father was silent. 

In a minute the boy again said: 

“Tf you want me to, I will leave the Uni- 
versity, and become a Jew again. Do you think 
I liked to do it?” 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 67 


“It is unnecessary,’ the father sternly an- 
swered. 

“Why?” the boy asked. 

The doctor moved closer to the boy, looked 
straight in his eyes, with a moody, sinister 
glance, and said: “We aren’t talking of religion. 
You know I am not religious. We are discuss- 
ing a principle. And you have denied that 
principle once. What would the good be in 
your becoming a Jew again? You can’t change 
what you have done. Just like a girl who has 
lost her honor—she can’t regain it. Under- 
stand?” 

The doctor seized the boy’s head and kissed 
him, perhaps for the first time in his life. 
Then he left the room. 


A few days later the doctor heard another 
bit of news: Joseph Kalmanovitch, Mikhail’s 
schoolmate, had also turned Christian. It was 
an open secret that Joseph was in love with 
Jenya. The town considered them already en- 
gaged. The doctor waited till the young man 
came to his house to see how his daughter 
would treat him. In a few days the doctor 
. found the young man in his house, and Jenya 
went out with him as if nothing had hap- 
pened. Joseph had been treated as usual. The 
doctor began to wonder and it occurred to him 
that after all, it was only he who was so re- 
actionary and superstitious that apostasy made 
too deep an impression on him. Yet the doctor 
could not understand how his daughter could 
receive the young man after Mikhail’s apostasy, 
and how Anna Isakovna bore the thing so 
patiently. He promised himself to talk to his 


68 YIDDIH SHORT STORIES 


daughter. She told him clearly that she did 
not care whether her husband was a Jew or a 
Christian. She loved the man. If her father 
objected to a marriage between them, she 
would live with Josepk anyway. It was only 
then that his situation grew clear in the doc- 
tor’s eyes. His children were leaving his house 
and his religion, and he himself would remain 
in his old age lost among strange beliefs and 
perhaps be supported by his children, and bring 
up strange grandchildren. And maybe his chil- 
dred would baptize him before death so that 
he should lie in the graveyard together with 
them. This woke the doctor from his apathetic 
condition, and he resolved to take action. 


At the same time the doctor persuaded him- 
self that he had become religious, and he would 
seek out small groups that congregated to pray 
at certain places and visit them between eve- 
ning prayers. But he could not deceive him- 
self. The prayers of the common, every-day 
Jews who ran into the small synagogue to free 
themselves for an hour from a day’s work, and 
to give God His cue, desirous of getting 
through with their duties as soon as they 
could, made no impression on him at all. He 
did not understand the prayers. He did not 
understand the grimaces they made, and their 
continued whining and shaking struck him as 
being wild. Yet he did not lose hope, and was 
inwardly sure that somewhere there did exist 
a great, strong Judaism, a Judaism that re- 
paid the burdens borne for its sake, a Judaism 
that gave Jews strength to bear suffering and 
still remain Jews—and it was his to seek out 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 69 


that Judaism which would repay him for the 
happiness lost in his children. 


He tried to observe the Jewish holidays in 
his home. He himself did not know much 
about them. He remembered nothing about 
them, and appeared comical in his own eyes 
when he went out on the street to buy Kosher 
meat, or bread, or matzoth and bring it home. 
Yet the people in the house had taken it all 
very seriously; on Passover the matzoth were 
placed on a serving dish, put on the table, and 
all were afraid even to touch it. They all 
tried to be as serious about it as was he him- 
self —but he knew that it was a farce. No 
one in the house knew anything about the 
holidays. The holidays they kept were the 
holidays of their neighbors. Where any part 
of the town celebrated, the doctor’s house cele- 
brated with it—Easter with the Russians, Christ- 
mas with the Catholics, but of their own holi- 
days they knew nothing. Because of this it 
was rather comical that he should all of a 
sudden try to celebrate their “own” holidays. 


Mainly he did it for his fourteen-year-old son, 
Solomon, who caused him more unrest than all 
the others. He knew that the boy suffered, that 
he was of a different make-up than the other 
children. It had been very hard to make it 
possible for the boy to enter the gymnasium. 
It was at a time when hate toward Jews was 
already raging among’ their Gentile neighbors, . 
and was more than ever in style. The boy was 
forced to suffer much at the hands of his Gen- 
tile schoolmates. Often, when he came home 
from school, his wet, frightened eyes seemed 


70 ; YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


to ask the terrible question: ‘Why?’ In the 
beginning, when he was yet a child, he asked 
his father: ‘Why did the Jews do that?” He 
was tortured so at school, but when the doctor 
was unable to give him a clear, true answer, 
he ceased to ask the question. Soon the child 
knew the full taste of being a Jew; he grew 
used to it, and bore it like a grown-up, with 
humility and patience. He asked no more ques- 
tions, and it was seen that he withdrew fur- 
ther and further into himself. He had grown 
very much in the few years he spent in the 
‘gymnasium. He read serious books, and his 
forehead was already wrinkled. He was quiet, 
and a sneering smile towards everything and 
everybody lingered about his lips—the smile 
of the suffering Jew towards the rest of the 

world. The doctor was more ashamed of him- | 
self before the boy than before his other chil- 
dren, and felt that he must do something to 
change the situation. He knew the responsi- 
bility he carried in the eyes of the child; that 
it was his to take care that this boy too did not 
become an apostate. This drove him to think 
of some practical remedy. He often wanted to 
speak to the youngest son about the older one’s 
apostasy, but he could not. He was afraid to 
hear the truth from him—a thing he had heard 
from none heretofore—that the fact that Mik- 
hail turned Christian was due more to himself 
than to Mikhail. He did nothing to prevent 
his son from changing faith. He already read 
the answer in the sneering smile that hung on 
the boy’s lips, and even more, in that the boy 
avoided the house more than he himself did 
He spent most of his time at a schoolmate’s and 


YIDDISH, SHORT, STORIES (a 


was rarely seen in the house. Since the oldest 
brother had become a Christian he had avoided 
the house still more. 


In this avoidance of the house the doctor saw 
a personal insult to himself. “The child avoids 
me,” he said to himself. This made him feel 
still worse and he would think: “Why does 
he avoid me?” And once when he. was told 
that Solomon had not come home for two nights 
(those were the first nights after the arrival 
of the apostate), the doctor sought the boy out — 
at his friend’s and spoke to him: 

“Why don’t you come home? Why do you 
run from the house?” 

“TI run from the house? It is you, father, who 
runs from the house,” the boy answered boldly 

In the answer the doctor heard the whol: 
inner truth—that he was lonely and avoided 
the house which he had built up; in this an- 
swer he heard the whole poverty, the whole 
forlornness of the situation in which he found 
himself, and he ceased to trouble his son with 
further questions. 

The doctor began to take great interest in 
what was going on among the Jews. He read 
Russo-Jewish newspapers, thought much of Jew- 
ish interests, and found that a new Jewish life 
was beginning in Palestine, that Jews were 
emigrating there, and becoming farmers; that 
there was hope of a Jewish state being founded, 
where Judaism could develop freely and frankly 
to a strong and rich fruition. Palestine awoke 
in the doctor the memories of his childhood 
years, of his father, the storekeeper in a little 
town. He began to remember the Jewish holi- 
days that his mother had always kept;—the 


72 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


Jewish Sabbath, when she lit candles; the con- 
eregation in which he had prayed; the Jewish 
Passover, when all in the house was so clean, 
and the family gathered at the Seder. It 
‘seemed to him that all this was closely related 
to Palestine; that it came from Palestine. And 
there, in the new Palestine this all would show 
itself stronger and freer, and the greater Juda- 
ism would begin to develop. His eyes were 
suddenly opened and he beheld in Palestine the 
great Jewish hope, so great, so holy, that repaid 
Jews for their suffering, that gave Jews the 
courage and the strength to bear all pain and 
insult for its sake. Palestine gave compensa- 
tion for all. He remembered, as in a dream, 
the Bible and the pictures in the Bible, and his 
father. The pious storekeeper’s life suddenly 
grew more interesting to him. He saw a cer- 
tain relationship between his father, the poor, 
forlorn Jew in his little home town, and the 
herces of the Bible. It was Palestine that 
bound them together. His father, the store- 
keeper, came from the same land that knew 
Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. He loved the same 
life they loved, and had the same duties and 
customs they had. But here, in exile, where he 
was oppressed he could not live like the pa- 
triarchs, the tillers of the soil, the shepherds. 
Here he had but the Sabbath and the Passover 
that the Patriarchs had; but there, in the land 
of the patriarchs, the Jews lead a patriarchal 
life; they till the soil themselves; they guard 
the sheep themselves, and live in godly piety. 
There Judaism shows itself in its full richness 
and greatness, only there can one understand 
what a moral, religious people the Jews are and 


YIDDISH SHORT Sio0. ties 73 


how clean and simple is the life they lead— 
there the Jewish holidays are celebrated in all 
their holiness. There he would see with the 
same eyes and feel with the same emotions the 
Jewish Passover, the Jewish Sabbath, the Jew- 
izh holiday, as long ago, when he was a child 
and lived in the house of his father and mother. 


The doctor. hid deep in his heart the secret 
that he had found Palestine as one hides a 
great treasure. He was afraid to confide it to 
his family. He became more restful and sure 
of himself. He no longer sat locked up in his 
cabinet whole nights long. He went no longei 
to the club; he began to eat together with his 
children; he even became very kind to his 
wife. A sort of hidden joy smiled out of his 
eyes, and no one knew what it was, just as 
no one knew the cause of the doctor’s sudden 
change of habits. 

He wanted to share his secret with Solomon 
—the boy would understand the happiness the 
doctor had found, and he needed it as much as 
the doctor himself. This would be good for 
the child, even heal him, the doctor thought— 
and why not go there with the child after all? 
He resolved to sneak to Sclomon about it. And 
as his custom was not leave anything undone 
till tomorrow, he wanted to speak at once, and 
entered the room where the boy sat over a 
book preparing his lesson. Without much ado, 
he patted the boy on the shoulder and said to 
him: 

“Solomon, what do you think of Palestine?” 

The boy opened wide his eyes and looked at 
the doctor in wonder. 

*Whet made you think of this, papa?” 


* 


74 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


“Why not?’ 

It was soon seen that the boy had been in- 
terested in Palestine for a long time. He was 
organizing a student’s Zionist Circle and knew 
of all that was going on in Palestine, even to 
the name of all the Jewish colonies. The father 
was beside himself with joy, and continued to 
pat the boy’s shoulders. 

“Would you like to go with me to Palestine?” 

The boy looked at him in wonder. 

“Do you really mean it, papa?’ 

“Of course, Solomon, of course. Don’t you 
see that I am being stifled here? What have 
I got here?’—The doctor wanted to get rid 
of all that had tortured him of late. He soon 
restrained himself, however, and ended his 
words, half-laughingly: . 

“Of course, of course, Solomon. The Jews 
there are great, fine-—-That is the place for 
Jewish life.’ The doctor grew excited. “And 
you will go with me?” 

“Of course I will go with you,” the child an- 
gwered. 

i (id as if mama and the older children remain 
ere?” 

“Let them remain if they like this place 
better,” the child replied. ‘I want to be there 
where Jews are equal to others; where Jews 
are free.” 


“Where Jews are free!” The doctor muttered 
as if to himself. ‘Good, good, Solomon. Let 
them remain, let them remain, if they feel at 
ease here.’ The doctor was struggling with 
something in himself. He swiftly disengaged 
himself from the boy and left the house, fear- 
ing that tears would gush from his eyes,—his 


a 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 7d 


old, weary eyes, which sat in a heavy, sleepy 
body overgrown with so much fat that it 
seemed his heart could never be reached,— 
and yet.. 


From then on the father and the son found 
themselves in the strange house. They felt 
themselves richer and freer than the others, 
and looked at the mother, the sister, and the 
apostate, with pity. They would sit till mid- 
night over a map of Palestine. Solomon would 
show where the Jewish colonies lay and what 
they were called; they had even begun to study 
Hebrew. The doctor gave it up after the sec- 
ond lesson—his head was too old to learn any- 
thing now. But not Solomon. When Solomon 
spoke of the new life, when father and son 
dreamed of Palestine, the old doctor’s heart 
grew glad, his great body became lighter, and 
he felt that things were as once upon a time, 
when he lived with his father, the storekeeper 
—once, in his childhood years. 

One fine evening the doctor. called together 
his family, and tried to deliver a long speech. 
He did not succéed. At the last moment, when 
all were solemnly assembled, he entered the 
room, struck the table with his fist and cried 
in 2 voice fict altogether calm, “Who will go 
with me to Palestine?” When they looked at 
him in wonder, he turned to his sick wife whom 
he almost killed with his loud voice and his 
swift, unusual movements. “Do you want to 
go to Palestine with me, or to remain with your 
Gentile children?” The ‘wife looked at him with 
fear in her eyes, and stammered: “I don’t 
know what you want of mé. Where my chil- 
Gren stay, I will stay also.” 


76 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


“Good, good,” the doctor roared. “Stay wher- 
ever you want to. I will sell my property and 
separate from you. I and Solomon go to Pales- 
tine.” 

At first they thought that it was a fit of 
anger on his part,—a thing that had taken place 
often during the last days,—and that he would 
quiet down. But they soon realized that he was 
in earnest. He ceased to occupy himself with 
his practice, and visited the brokers trying to 
sell the house. He succeeded in selling it for a 
very small sum. 

Bidding farewell to none but Solomon, he 
left for Palestine to seek rest for them both in 
the new home of the Jews. 

A few weeks later, on a fine morning. Dr. 
Lazarovitch came back home. Shamefacedly he 
stole into his house, ashamed to show himself 
to his wife and children. They thought that 
he had come to take Solomon and go away 
again. But they saw him resume his old prac- 
tice. He was very quiet and even more re- 


served than before. They did not ask him 


where he had been nor what he had done. 

He felt. the questioning gaze of Solomon di- 
rected at him. The boy asked him nothing, but 
seeing that his father was practising again, he 
lost heart, and began to avoid the house as he 
had done after the apostasy of Mikhail. The 
doctor felt guilty in respect to the boy, and 
avoided all conversation with him. Each day 
the boy became paler and more self-centered. 

Once the doctor suddenly called him into his: 
cabinet. ,The boy was ghastly, and one could 
hear his heart beat. He was ashamed to look 
his father straight in the eyes. 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES bit 


“T couldn’t remain there. You understand, 
Solomon?” The father began quietly. “It was 
not what I expected. I thought it altogether 
different, altogether different. But it was not 
what I expected.” ; 


The boy lifted his eyes, and looked at his 
father. His look made the doctor nervous. He 
forgot what he wanted to say to the boy re- 
garding his return, and began talking in a 
shrill, nervous voice. . 

(itis too, ‘hot. there... Not, our ¢limate, ‘1 
couldn’t acclimatize myself there. I’m too old. 
You—perhaps—you are young, you might do it.” 

The boy lifted his eyes again, and now it 
seemed to the doctor that he saw a vague smile 
on the pale, cracked lips of his son, as if an 
older, experienced man-were looking at a boy. 
The doctor cried still more angrily. 

“What are you smiling at? Understand, I 
could not. Understand? I thought Palestine a 
Jewish kingdom. I would find there what I 
had when I was a child. A Sabbath. Holiday. 
In one word, a Jewish kingdom. With a great 
Jewish life. Perhaps one is growing there. 
But I’m too old to grow with it. I needed ripe 
fruit. Understand? Ripe fruit. And there is 
none there. Everything is green, poor. I felt 
like a stranger, a man from another climate. 
Understand? Another climate. You feel like a 
strange plant in another climate.” 

“Papa, it is not the climate that is to blame, 
but the plant.” 

“Perhaps the plant. Too old. But there is 
nothing to laugh at.” 

The boy pitied the man and said. “But papa, 
I’m not laughing. Who says I’m laughing?’ 


78 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


“You aren’t laughing? Thanks. And I tell 
you that I gave up my ideal because it is too 
hot there. And if you want to, go ahead and 
laugh at it, laugh at a sixty-five-year-old jackass 
who is your father, who could not acclimatize 
himself in a strange climate because it was too 
warm. Laugh at it if you want to,” Dr. Lazaro- 
vitch yelled. 

Two large tears shone in the boy’s eyes, and 
swiftly, without a single word, he left the room. 

Since then both father and son avoid each 
other, and when they meet they are ashamed 
to look into each other’s eyes. 


Translated by Jacob Robbins. 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES io 


A GAME 
ABRAHAM RAISIN 


Reaction, like a black vulture, had spread its 
wings over all that had lived and struggled. 
The best and bravest of the revolutionary 
spirits lost their courage and many were forced 
to wander forth, to escape to foreign lands, 
some with the hope of coming back in hetter 
and more tolerant times, others in doubt and 
despair. — 

Among the latter was Chayim Grossman, who 


from his twentieth to his thirtieth year, had 
worked in the movement. More than one barri- 


SS 


cade had he thrown up in Warsaw’s streets, 


more than one revolutionists’ banner had he 


waved from its house tops, and not a few 
times had he exposed himself to the peril of 


the bullets. But always his courage and his 


faith in the holy cause had helped him to come 


forth from the battle, safe in body and un- 
daunted in spirit. 
' But at last even he lost courage, and as he 


reviewed his past activities, for which hanging 


itself were little punishment indeed, he was 
overcome by terror. Every night in his dreams 


there would appear hangmen, in red garb, 
laughing loudly at him through grinning teeth, 


and they would drag him somewhere up a high 


seaffold . . . He would be forced to crawl and 
climb, upward, upward, until he reached the 


_—— 


top, which was frightfully high. And now he ~ 


50) a Dace! ce: co COUN ba De KOS SLE 


would fall over the edge, and on waking would 
find himself bathed in a cold sweat, while his 
terro: was greater than ever. 


Shadow-like, he slunk through the “peaceful” 
streets, trembling at sight of every officer and 
beholding in every civilian—a spy . 

There was only one course left—to escape. 
But strangely enough, the selfsame Grossman 
who during his ten years’ service in the move- 
ment had stolen across the border time and 
again, now developed a sudden fear at the 
notion of crossing the boundary-line with the 
same trustworthy agents as heretofore. And 
when his more intimate friends, also former 
fighters for the cause, would ask him, “Chayim, 
why do you delay your escape?” he would reply 
dispiritedly, “I tremble at thought of the > 
border. They’re watching very cloSély now.” © 


And of all these friends, once upon a time 
leaders in the revolution, not one wou'd at- 
tempt to give him the courage to cross in the 
old way. This disheartened Chayim all the 
more, and like a caged beast he paced back © 
and forth, a solitary shadow in the great city 
of Warsaw, seeking some avenue of escape 
from his danger. . . 


One day, walking thus engrossed in thought — 
through the Saxon Gardens, where at every 
turn a gendarme was encountered, Chayim 
came face to face with Henich, the son of 
wealthy parents, who had, however, been very 
active in the days of the revolution and had. 
been very friendly towards Chayim. MHenich 
_took him to a secluded spot and whispered to. 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 81 


him, “Chayim, do you want to leave the coun- 
try in the regular, legal manner?” 


‘Do you need to ask that?” replied Chayim 
quickly. 

“Well, just listen. My sister Eda is about 
to leave for Berlin, to meet her husband, 
Sandrovitch. The passport is made out in the 
name of both of them, but he left earlier than 
he expected . . . so that you can travel with 
the passport, as her husband 

There flashed upon Ghayin's memory the 
black eyes and the bewitching countenance of 
Eda, whom he had known well and with whom, 
in the days of the revolution, he had spoken 
only of matters connected with the struggle. 
Now, learning that she was already married, 
he felt a queer twinge at his heart, and growing 
pale with emotion, he answered quickly, “Yes, 
certainly, ’'ll go as her husband.” Then notic- 
ing that Henich eyed him suspiciously, he 
added: “Ill avoid capture.” 

Henich, being an amiable sort of chap, 
slapped him on the back, “You—captured. 
That doesn’t worry us at all!” he exclaimed. 

‘Then, after having made arrangements for 
leaving in about a week, they separated. 

That week went by as slowly as a year for 
Chayim. But not because he was so eager to 
leave Warsaw and its terrors behind; rather 
because of his desire to travel as the husband 
of dear, beautiful Hda. The make-believe re- 
lationship began to take on for him a most 
serious aspect, and as he lay in his room, 
which was situated in a remote section of the 
town, he conjured up the pretty face of 


82 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


Sandrovitch’s young wife Eda, who would soon 
be under his own personal care. A trembling, 
new-borne longing took possession of his 
heart . 


Boruch Sandrovitch—Boruch Sandrovitch. He 
repeated the other man’s name over and over 
again, so as not to betray himself at the border. 
And so, muttering the name countless times 
during the week he began to feel that from 
now on he was no longer Chayim Grossman, 
former revolutionist, but Boruch Sandrovitch, 
a student of Berlin University, a fair-haired 
fellow of twenty-five, whom the beautiful Hda 
loved to distraction . 


“Well, here is your wife!” Eda’s father, a 
tall, broad-boned Jew, with a patriarchal beard, 
and gold-rimmed spectacles on his aristocratic 
nose, turned to Chayim, who, at the words, was 
overcome by a sensation of sweet warmth that 
suffused his entire being. He stole a bashful 
glance at the slender Eda, who made a pretty 
picture as she stood there in her traveling 
clothes, smiling sweetly at him. 

“Take good care of her,’’ added Eda’s mother, 
a woman of some fifty years, with large eyes 
and dressed in black. 

“She’ll be as precious as the apple of my 
eye,” blurted Chayim fervently, and of a sud- 
den blushed at the impassioned tones of his 
promise. 

“And be sure not to forget that you’re Boruch 
Sandrovitch,”’ admonished Eda, beaming at him 
with the same sweet, friendly smile. 

“YTll remember that only too well,” exploded 
Chayim, with the same passion as before. 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 83 


“Here is the passport; I am now in your 
hands,” declared Eda, giving him the book. 


Chayim placed it carefully in his pocket, and 
gazing at Hda most eloquently he managed to 
exclaim: “This is a most pleasant charge.” 
And immediately he regretted his words. 


It was three hours’ ride to the border. Chayim 
sat the whole time at Eda’s side, and wishing 
to become more intimate, he suddenly turned 
to her and suggested, “I think it would help 
to avert suspicion on our journey, if I were to 
use ‘thow’ in addressing you, and you likewise 
with me.” 

Having offered this short, practical sug- 
gestion he turned red, and his heart beat wildly, 
as he waited for her approval. 

“IT really am in doubt,” she hesitated. “In 
high society man and wife use ‘you’ in address- 
ing each other.” 

“But that might arouse suspicion in our case 
—I mean, that ‘thou’ would be more to our pur- 
pose,” urged Chayim. 

She finally consented. 

Unfortunately, however, Chayim could find 
no opportunity for using the coveted familiar 
pronoun. At last the longed-for chanced ar- 
rived. He was gazing out of the window. The 
sun, like a blood-red disc, was setting behind 
a thick forest, gilding the tree-tops with its 
dying splendor. Chayim, entranced by the 
scene, cried out, “Just see, Eda, see thou, how 
beautiful!” 

Eda arose and looked through the window. 
“Wonderful!” she exclaimed. 

Cheyim was right beside her, but instead of 


84 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


looking at the beautiful sunset he sought to 
penetrate Eda Sandrovitch’s face, and he grew 
sad. 


A moment later and the sun had sunk be- 
neath the horizon, as if the Sea = forest had 
engulfed it. 

They sat down and Eda began: “You 
know vf 


“Thou knowest,” corrected Chayim. “We 
might betray ourselves.” 


“Don’t worry on that score,” she replied, stub- 
bornly. ‘You Know that we’re almost at the 
border.” 


“We should be all the more careful for that 
very reason. So then, what dost thou say, 
Eda?” 

Eda smiled good-naturedly, replying, “If you 
desire to play the game, by all means, with the 
greatest of pleasure!” And then, more play- 
fully, she added, “I say, my dear Sandrovitch, 
we're soon at the border.” 

“What of that, darling Eda?’ He smiled in 
return, clasping her velvety little hand. 

She did not withdraw her hand. This made 
Chayim bolder. He pressed closer to her, ever 
so close, and whispered tenderly, “What a 
sweet, darling child thou art!” 

She gazed at him with her large black eyes, 
in silence. 

At last they pulled into Alexandrovna, the 
border station, The train suddenly became 
alive with nervous activity. A tall gendarme 
with forbidding mustache entered, yeahh out 
in official tones, “Passports!” 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 85 


Chayim Grossman pulled out his passport and 
gave it to the gendarme. 


“And you?” asked the latter in Russian, turn- 
ing to Eda. 

“She is my wife,” answered Chayim, in the 
same language. 

“Very well,’ was the response, as if ap- 
proving the match. Chayim felt distinctly flat- 
tered with the approval. 

The gendarme collected the passports of the 
other occupants and then left, locking the door 
of the coach. 

“And now we are in very truth man and 
wife,’ whispered Chayim passionately to Eda. 

“Yes, of course,’ Eda nodded. 

Her acquiesence made Chayim very happy, 
and he turned boldly to her, asking tenderly, 
“Wouldst thou have a bite to eat?” 

. She smiled, and replied good-humoredly, “Not 
I, but perhaps you would—that is, thou wouldst, 
beloved,” she hastened to correct herself. 

“Yes, I’m really hungry.” 

He arose, took down her little traveling bag, 
which contained their lunch, and gave it to 
her. 

She opened it and took out the food that her 
mother had prepared. 

“Long life to my good mother,” blessed Eda, 
between bites, and her large black eyes grew 
larger and darker. . 

“Hat, Sandrovitch,” she urged Chayim. 

“Yes, my little dove, I'll eat.” 

Eda burst into laughter. 

“You’re a perfect artist,” she whispered into 
his ear, . 


86 YIDD.SH SHORT STORIES 
“Why?” he asked... 
“Good heavens!” she replied, feigning anger 


because he did not understand, and resumed 
her eating. 


At this point the gendarme returned, accom- 
panied by an officer, who returned the pass- 
ports. 


“Boruch Sandrovitch!” 


“Here,” answered Grossman, not without 
inner misgivings. 

The officer examined him closely, gave him 
his passort and turned to Eda. 

“And you?” 

“My husband,’ she replied, pointing to 
Chayim. 

“All right,” assented the officer, genially. 

And Chayim Grossman, forgetting the revo- 
lution, the barricades, and his hatred of the 
army, felt deep in his heart a warm gratitude 
towards that young officer; a few moments 
later, when the gendarme and the official had 
gone, he remarked, “There are some good fel- 
lows among them, at that.” 

“Devil take them, every one,” dissented Eda, 
much to Chayim’s displeasure. 

The train began to move. 

‘““We’ve crossed the border” she exclaimed 


joyously. 
“‘We’re husband and wife just the same... 
Germany is no better than Russia ... We 


must continue to say ‘thou’ to one another.” 
“As you say,” answered Eda indifferently. 
“Let it be ‘thou.’ ” 
At each stop the train discharged 2 large 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 87 


number of passengers. Soon Eda and Chayim 
were the only occupants of their coach. 


“We are alone!” cried Chayim, in ecstasy. 


Eda could not understand his great joy. She 
looked upon him coldly, saying, “Now I may 
address you by your real name. And so, Mr. 
Grossman, what are your plans in Germany?” 


“Germany!” Chayim shuddered at the 
thought. “Germany?” He was silent. 


He was at a loss for reply. He suddenly 
recalled that the game was over; now he faced 
the real, hard, sad world of fact, and soon the 
real Sandrovitch would come to claim this beau- 
tiful being as his own, while, he, Chayim, in 
wretched loneliness, would wander aimlessly 
through the streets of Berlin. The recollec- 
tion of ail this gripped him, and he was over- 
whelmed by terror of the long, sinister future. 


He gazed out of the window. The night was 
black. Here and there a light would flash by 
in the darkness—a far-away gleam—would flash 
by and melt into the night. 


—Translated by Isaac Goldberg. 


88 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


THE KiSS 


L. SHAPIRO 


Rab’ Shachneh’s hands and feet trembled, 
and he felt an awful bitterness in the mouth. 
It seemed to him, sitting in the chair, that the 
wild uproar of the street, the howling and the 
whistling, the cracking and the ringing of the 
shattering window-panes, were taking place 
within him, within his own head. 

The pogrom had broken out with such fear- 
ful suddenness that he found himself forced 
to fly home without stopping to lock his shop. 
But on reaching home, he discovered no one 
there. Sarah and the children had, seemingly, 
managed to hide themselves somewhere, leav- 
ing the house and their few belongings in God’s 
care. He himself, however, did not think of 
hiding. He did not think of anything, in fact. 
He was conscious only of the wild noises of 
the street, and the unbearable bitterness in 
his mouth. 

The noises sounded now nearer, now more 
distant, like the roar of a neighboring confla- 
gration. But suddenly, it surrounded the house 
on all sides at once. .The window-panes 
cracked, rocks flew into the room; and the 
next instant, young peasants with flaming, 
drunken faces, carrying knives and clubs, came 
crawling through doors and windows. 

It then occurred to Rab’ Shachneh that he 
ought to do something about it. And he lifted 
himself laboriously from the chair, and begai 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 89 


to crawl under a sofa, right before the eyes 
of the rioters. The peasants roared with 
laughter. 


“Nah! There is a fool for you!” and one of 
them grabbed him by a leg. “Eh, you! Get 
up!” 

This brought Rab’ Shachneh to his senses, 
and he began to weep like a child. 


“Boys,” he pleaded, “I will let you have 
everything—the money, the jewelry—every- 
thing. Spare my life! Why should you kill 
me? I have a wife and children.” 

But nothing availed him. They took every- 
thing, and beat him besides, struck him in the 
face and chest, kicked him in the abdomen 
with mad fury.. He cried, pleaded, and they 
kept up their beating. 

“Vasily, Vasilinka, you know me! Your 
father worked for us. Haven’t we always paid 
him well? Vasilinka, save me! Save...” 

A violent blow on the chest cut short his 
pleading. Two young peasants sat on him and 
pressed their knees into his abdomen. Vasi- 
linka, a small spare fellow with a crooked face 
and grey eyes, spoke up proudly: 

“You paid him, did you! Father worked, so 
you paid. I would have just liked to see you 
refuse to pay him.” 

Nevertheless it pleased Vasilinka greatly 
that Rab’ Shachneh should have appealed to 
him for mercy, and he thereupon turned to the 
others. 

“Now, boys, enough! Let the carcass be. 
You can see that it’s barely gasping.” 

Reluctantly, one by one, the peasants tore 


90 YIDDISH. SHORT STORIES 


themselves away from their victim, and began 
to leave the house, smashing whatever articles 
had previously escaped their notice. 

“Nu, Shachneh,”’ Vasily turned to him, “you 
have me to thank for being alive yet. The 
boys would have made short work of you, if it 
hadn’t been for me.” 

He was on the point of leaving with the 
others, when something occurred to him that 
made him halt. 


“There!” he said, extending his hand to Rab’ 
Shachneh. “Kiss!” 


Rab’ Shachneh raised his bloodshot eyes 
and looked at him bewildered. He did not 
understand. 

Vasily’s face darkened. 

“Didn’t you hear me? Kiss, I tell you!” 

Two of the peasants halted in the doorway, 
watching the scene. Rab’ Shachneh looked at 
Vasily and was silent. Vasily’s face turned 
green, 

“Ah, Jew-face that you are!” He gnashed 
his teeth, and drove his open hand into Rab’ 
Shachneh’s face. “You hesitate! Oh, boys! 
Come back here!” 

The two peasants came up closer. 

“Ah, nu! Get to work, boys. Since he’s 
such a fine gentleman, he’s got to kiss my 
foot... 1D Res WOD WW oii 6 a 

He sat down upon a chair. The two peasants 
grabbed hold cf Rab’ Shachneh, and flung him 
at Vasily’s feet. 

“Pull off that boot!” Vasily commanded 
kicking Rab’ Shachneh in the mouth. 


YIDDISH SHORT STOR:LES 91 


Rab’ Shachneh slowly pulled the boot off the 
peasant’s foot. 


They stood face to face—a red dirty foot 
smelling strongly of perspiration and a beaten- 
up face with a long, noble, dark beard. Strange- 
ly enough the beard wasn’t harmed much. It 
was torn and plucked in but a few spots, but 
it retained the dignity of respectability. From 
above, Vasily’s crooked face looked down, glar- 
ing with its grey eyes. 

“Kiss, I tell you!” 

And another kick in the face followed the 
command. 

For a moment all was silent and motionless, 
then Rab’ Shachneh bowed down his head, and 
Vasily emitted a sharp frightful cry. Alli of the 
five toes and part of his foot had disappeared 
into Rab’ Shachneh’s mouth. The two rows 
of teeth sank deep into the dirty, sweaty flesh. 

What followed was wild and lurid, like an 
evil, revolting dream. 


The peasants struck Rab’ Shachneh with 
their booted feet. They kicked him with such 
fury that it resounded loud and hollow like an 
empty barrel. They pulled out his beard in 
handfuls. They dug their nails into his eyes 
and tore them out. They searched out the 
most sensitive parts of his body and ripped out 
pieces. His body shivered, trembled, bent and 
twisted. And the two rows of teeth pressed 
on convulsively closer and closer, and some- 
thing cracked inside the mouth, the teeth, tho 
bones, or perhaps both. All this while, Vas. 
linka raved, shrieked, screeched like a stuck 
pig. 


92 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


How long this lasted, the peasants did not 
know. They had taken no notice of the time. 
It was only when they saw that Rab’ Sachneh’s 
body no longer moved that they stopped at 
last. A shudder shook them from head to foot 
when they looked into his face. 

His torn out eyes hung loose near the bloody 
sockets. His face was no longer recognizable; 
while what was left of his beard hung in blood- 
congealed strands. The dead teeth, with a 
piece of the foot still between them, glared 
like those of a dead wolf. 

Vasilinka still wriggled, no longer upon the 
chair, but upon the floor. His body was twisted 
like a snake, and from his throat came long- 
drawn-out, hoarse sounds. His gray eyes grew 
large, dim and glassy. It was evident that he 
had lost his mind. 

“God help us,” the terrified peasants 
screamed, as they fled from the house. 

Out in the street, the pogrom, in all its beast- 
ly ferocity, was still raging, and amidst the 
many noises, no one heard the broken cries of 
the living man who was slowly expiring within 
the jaws of the dead man. 


Translated by Israel Solon. 


YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 93 


YIDDISH LITERATURE IN ENGLISH 


The following books, translated (with one 
exception) from the Yiddish by Isaac Goldberg, 
are procurable through the HALDEMAN- 
JULIUS COMPANY, Girard, Kansas, at the 
prices indicated, postpaid. . 

. DAVID PINSKI 

Huebsch, Three Plays (Isaac Sheftel; The 
Dumb Messiah; The Last Jew) $1.65. 

Huebsch, Jen Plays (The Phonograph; The 
God of the Newly Rich Wool Merchant; A 
Dollar; The Cripples; The Inventor and the 
King’s Daughter; Diplomacy; Little 
Heroes; The Beautiful Nun; Poland—1919; 
The Stranger) $2.15. 

Huebsch The Treasure (Translated by Lud- 
wig Lewisohn) $1.40. 

Huebsch, The Wives of King David. 

SHOLOM ASCH 

Luce, Mottke the Vagabond (A novel of the 
underworld of Warsaw.) $2.65. 

Dutton, Uncle Moses (A novel of the East Side 
suppressions and aspirations.) $2.15. 

The God of Vengeance (Pocket Series No. 416 
Revised Edition.) 

' LEON KOBRIN . 

Brentano, A Lithuanian Village (An excep- 
tionally well-done idyll of the old world 
summoned to the new.) $1.90. 

PLAYS OF THE YIDDISH THEATRE 

Luce, First and Second Series, each contain- 

ing six one-act plays by Pinski, Asch, 
D: Hirschbein, Kobrin, Sholom Aleikhem, 
'  ~* Levin, $1.65 each. 


94 YIDDISH SHORT STORIES 


PEREZ HIRSCHBEIN 
Luce, The Haunted Inn (A Play .n Four Acts) 
$1.65. 


YEHOASH (Sol Bloomgarden) 

Jewish Publication Society, Philadelphia. 
The Feet of the Messenger. (Travels of the 
noted poet from New York to Palestine and 
back.) 


a ed 


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Tbse 

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241 


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The Man Shakespeare. 
Vol. 2. (Harris; 

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Vol. 4. Harris. 

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